Sharks In the Water
by Hiza Montmorency
Summary: AU. A spy has entered the Camelot Corp., sent to destroy the man they call the Dragonlord, Arthur Pendragon's invisible protector. Luckily, the Dragonlord is an accomplished spy catcher- and has no qualms about disposing of them. As complications prove that not everything is as it originally seemed, who will fall? Merwaine.
1. Just Haven't Met you Yet

**No, this is not a sequel to Once Bitten. I kind of wish it was, but it isn't. I hope you enjoy it anyway. It's kind of odd, but most AU's are. I don't own Merlin.**

**And so, without further ado, I give you **_**Sharks in the Water. (**_**Title from VV Brown's **_**Sharks in the Water.)**_

**/**

The man behind the desk puffed on the cigar clamped in his teeth, watching the man across from him with narrow-slitted eyes. "They call him the Dragonlord, and no, I dunno how he got the name. All I know is that he's somewhere in Camelot Corp, and he's _very_ good at sniffing out spies of any kind, as well as disposing of them quickly and efficiently. You run the risk of getting killed on this job."

"I'm not too worried." The other man was confident, and disturbingly calm. "I've been in rough situations before, and I can't see a paper pusher being too dangerous."

The older man, who had instructed the spy to call him The Boss, snorted. "This one is, I assure you. We figure that he's high up in the company, probably close to Arthur Pendragon- He doesn't really have friends, per say, but he's fairly decent with those he works with. Well enough liked, I suppose." Reaching over, he picked up a set of file folders. "Info on all of Arthur's closest forced friends and the people he works with."

The other man picked them up, flipping open the first one to reveal a picture of a slim young man with black hair and stunning blue eyes looking harried as he talked on a phone crossing a street. The name beside it read Merlin Emrys, and the information sheet told him that he was 25, with a Bachelor's in secretarial work and a minor in Humanities. He had a pet cat, drove a very nice 1959 restored Desoto Fireflite Sportsman, and rented an apartment in a decent section of town. No criminal record, next of kin listed as one Hunith Laird, recently remarried.

"That's Arthur's secretary, pet, and servant," The Boss said dryly. "Arthur spoils him rotten. The car was a present. He practically runs Arthur's life, and is in charge of the Pages."

"Pages?"

"They're a group of young interns that run important messages all over the building. Uther doesn't trust e-mail, and Arthur's too lazy or busy to run them, so the duty falls to Merlin. They're the very backbone of the Corporation, and everything that they move around goes through Merlin first. If you can, get close to him. Better yet, get in bed with him. He's gay, thank heavens, and from all accounts he's free right now. I want you as close to him as possible. He probably knows who the Dragonlord is, and might even help you take him down if you go about it right."

The man nodded, rising. "Of course. I can expect money and papers when?"

"This time tomorrow. Your hire has already been arranged- we've worked on it for months. You're taking an apartment a little down from Emrys's, the building's named the Columbia. The other two hires will be in there too."

The other man gave him a lazy salute, and sauntered out the door, files held loosely in his hands.

The Boss watched him go with his beady eyes glinting. The man was one of the best agents in the country, a terror on those weaker and stronger than him, and a deadly enemy on the best of days. He wouldn't want him on anything but his side. The man was talented at torture, and very good at stalking his prey.

The Dragonlord wouldn't know what hit him.

/

The day after the spy left the Bosses office, Merlin Emrys had already been up for hours, was dressed in a suit worth more than his apartment, and was pounding on the door to the hotel suite currently occupied by Arthur Pendragon, his boss and the reason he was about ready to strangle someone. Violently. With an ax. Or maybe a spoon.

The door flew open, revealing an all but nude Arthur, who grinned cheekily at him. "Lovely morning, isn't it, Merlin?"

Merlin snarled, and shoved his way in, storming over to the nearest chair and throwing himself into it as Arthur began to dress (or, at least, began to consider dressing). Pinching the bridge of his nose and thinking longingly of a long soak, he growled, "I have been hunting all over the city for you since 5 this morning, Arthur. Do you have anything to say about that?"

Arthur sighed expressively, picking up and examining a pair of immaculately pressed black slacks that had been lying on the opposite bed and considering them mournfully. "Not really."

"Arthur-" Merlin started furiously, looking up to glare at the man, but stopped short when he saw the look on his bosses face as the man glanced over at him. "Oh no. Not here. For heaven's sake, it's seven in the morning, you're late, we're in a hotel –how sleazy is _that_- and I've already showered!"

Stalking over to him, Arthur smiled with all the charm of a mountain lion with claws extended. "Take another one. Preferably with me."

Merlin growled, and pulled him down for a kiss that was bruising in its intensity. "You owe me."

Arthur merely chuckled, snaking his hands under Merlin's shirt. "And you know I'll never pay."

Merlin nipped at him, only giving Arthur incentive to pull him upright and shove him onto the bed, divesting him of his jacket in the process.

/

"This is ridiculous," Merlin grumbled, tying his tie for the second time that day. Arthur grinned, swooping in for another kiss. Merlin glared but complied before storming out the door, Arthur close behind him. "You know, if we keep this up, he's going to find out. Then where will we both be?"

"Sunning ourselves in the Caribbean, sipping pina colada's and living the high life," Arthur retorted, tipping the busboy generously as they passed. The boy gave them a very knowing grin and continued down the hall. "I've got enough put away in my private accounts to get us far, far away. Relax, Merlin. Everyone in offices screws the secretary. Father and that troll, Catherine, you and me, what's-his-face and Mary… It's like a rite of passage, you know."

"No, I don't know, and that's just plain ridiculous. Lancelot doesn't sleep with Marcella," he pointed out dryly, jabbing the elevator's down button with more force than was strictly necessary. They'd have a bit of a ride- the 21st floor was a long ways up, and the elevators were slow. Lancelot, real name Lance Allet, was the head of Internal Affairs, and the least likely person to ever have one.

"Lancelot also happens to believe that he's a medieval knight, _Mer_lin."

Merlin snorted. "Doesn't matter, does it? He doesn't sleep with her, ergo, you're wrong, I'm right, end of story, and don't even _think _about trying anything in the elevator, they have cameras."

Arthur sulked the rest of the way down.

/

Uther Pendragon, Master and Commander of Camelot Corporations, looked down his nose at the three men sitting across from him. They were newly hired; one in a high position, two in lower, and all of them were not what he would have chosen. In this oak paneled, practically shellacked office, with its almost mirror-like surfaces and plethora of bookshelves, he ruled and reigned on a throne of real leather, but he knew he no longer had total control over the company. These men were evidence of that, hired by Arthur to do Arthur's bidding.

He didn't have to like them.

Gwaine Noble was on the end, tall, rakishly, devastatingly handsome, smiling slightly as though he knew all Uther's secrets and exactly how to exploit them, was the new head of Public Relations. Elyan Nevere sat beside him, dark and soberly attentive, his clothes matte black and his eyes focused but uneasy, was to be a minor irritant, simply another accountant in Arthur's circle of offices. Percival Schloss, a broad, strapping mans man, sat quiet and apparently complacent, but his aura told of total control, a good thing for an analyst.

It was a good thing he didn't have to like them, because he really didn't like them.

/

"Mr. Pendragon- Arthur, that is- should be back in a few minutes. His secretary, Mr. Emrys, called from a hotel. He said they were on their way and that Arthur had some sort of fight with Uther. He apparently left earlier this morning, and he's just barely managed to coax him back here."

Gwaine's sigh was expressive on about 20 levels, starting with "My life is pathetic" and ending at "I'm going to kill the next person who doesn't show up on time". Gwen nodded sympathetically, and gestured at the set of cubicles behind her. "At least everyone else is here, Mr. Noble. Welcome to your new realm." She smiled at him. "I'll just be next door if you need anything."

Nodding his acquiescence, he slid into his office and eyed the bare surface. It was almost totally empty, and that included a lack of a desk. Sighing, he rubbed his hands together. "Right," he told the room briskly. "Let's get cracking."

An hour later, Gwaine Noble, the new head of PR for Camelot Corporations, was settled into _his_ office. A set of dramatically impressive books lined the walls, his desk had been brought in piece by piece, his chair had been situated, a set of beautiful red dragon statues had been placed facing each other at either end of the desk. The name plate was rather boringly sat next to a pencil holder that looked like a miniature white castle, complete with small red flags waving from the four towers, and a tiny drawbridge where a tiny knight was rearing on a horse. It was his favorite item in the office, and was now holding most of his pens and pencils. His in and outboxes were also set up, the internet set up, and a set of chairs had been brought in and set across from his desk.

Thoroughly pleased, he set his laptop down on the desk and sat in the chair. Surveying the office, he felt ridiculously proud of it. He'd worked quite a while for this job, and now he looked the image of the proper businessman.

Leaning back, he put his feet on the desk with a heavy, satisfying thunk.

Much better.

/

At three o'clock sharp, Gwaine found himself stepping into the small antechamber that came right in front of Arthur's office, only to be stopped by a slim young man who was on the phone. Looking up and surveying him quickly with brilliant blue eyes, he held up a finger. The man's desk was situated directly in front of Arthur's door, as if to barricade him from any encroaching forces. It was an impressive desk, all sharp edges and dark brown wood, dwarfing the delicate boned man behind it.

"Yes, Gwen, he's here," he said into the phone, grinning at the man. "Yes, I'll remind Arthur not to eat him. Yes, yes. Bye."

Hanging up the phone, he opened his mouth to speak when a miniscule woman darted in. Despite the fact that she was wearing slacks and a dress shirt, she was also wearing a pair of tennis shoes and carrying a briefcase. Skidding to a halt, the girl saluted, panting.

"Page Remington, reporting. My apologies, there was a crash downtown I got caught in."

The secretary was already pulling files off of a pile stacked haphazardly on the enormous desk. "These go to Level Fourteen, this one to Level Eight, and the pink memo goes to his Lordship," said with a roll of the eyes, "And I need all of the memos that need to be delivered back here ASAP. If you see Mordred, send him up here, I want a word."

The woman grabbed the files, shoved them in her briefcase, and flew back out the door at a run. The secretary sighed.

"Pages," he muttered, then turned an extremely disarming smile on Gwaine. Dazzled, the man grinned back. "Alright, you're our new PR head right?"

"Yep," Gwaine grinned at him. "Gwaine Noble."

"Merlin Emrys, and let me tell you," he said as he stood to shake Gwaine's hand, "It's a relief to meet you. Our last PR head was terrible- no sense of humor, never smiled."

Gwaine found himself liking the skinny young man more than ever. "I can assure you, I have quite the sense of humor."

Merlin sighed in relief, grinning widely, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Good." Gwaine immediately liked the man.

The clock ticked to three, and Merlin led him back. Opening the door, he announced, "Mr. Gwaine Noble, Mr. Arthur Pendragon. Mr. Pendragon, behave yourself."

And with that, Gwaine was pushed gently into Arthur's office. The door shut firmly behind him.

_Oh my._

Arthur Pendragon's office was at the corner of the building, meaning that it had two walls totally composed of floor-to-ceiling glass. The view was amazing, looking over the sweeping, majestic skyline of the city and the ocean beyond. Another wall was filled with a set of bookshelves bearing boringly official looking books, as well as trinkets from around the world. These including a large jade Fu Dog, the _Volto, Bauta, Scaramouche, _and _Dotore Peste _masks of Venice, what looked like a Roman sword, and a beautiful tribal mask from Australia. A series of other, smaller, trinkets were settled there as well, but the attention of anyone in the office was instantly and insistently drawn to the man sitting behind an enormous mahogany desk, the only other feature to the office besides two chairs in front of the desk, also mahogany.

Arthur Pendragon radiated the kind of controlled, intense confidence that belonged to every great leader, and his eyes bored into Gwaine with all the judgment and cold curiosity as a cat about to pounce on a supremely unsuspecting mouse. Gwaine had the sneaking suspicion that Arthur was decidedly less than happy at the moment.

After a moment, he stood and walked around the desk. "Arthur Pendragon," he said brusquely, offering a hand.

Gwaine turned on every charm that he could think of, smiled broadly, and took the hand. "Gwaine Noble. It's nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine, I assure you," Arthur said, releasing him and returning to his seat. He walked with the kind of animalistic grace seen in the bare knuckle boxers at the gym, always prowling as if about to attack. This, Gwaine thought with certainty, was not a man who had been built to work in an office. He'd been built to put on armor and kill things, to ride horses wearing curtains into battle, to swing swords and maces and other sharp, pointy objects made to destroy in fights. No wonder he'd been late- Gwaine had no doubt that it must half kill him to come and sit in what must be a cage to him. He knew the feeling well; he felt it every day.

"Have a seat please."

Gwaine sat, letting his body relax into the rather uncomfortable chair. Arthur steepled his fingers, staring over them at him for a long minute, surveying him carefully with blue eyes that looked like chips of ice.

"My father doesn't like you."

Ah. He knew that tone. Slightly guilty, slightly accusing, very wishful. Arthur liked him, but felt guilty for it, accused him and himself of not being good enough, and wished his father liked him. Interesting.

Gwaine shrugged. "I don't much like your father, so we're on the same page." He kept the curiosity out of his eyes, wondering just how strong willed the man was, and how far he would push.

Arthur sighed. "It's widely known and accepted that I'll take over the company one day," he said softly. "My father fears this. He surrounds me with people of his choosing that he thinks that I'll want for my advisors. I don't want them. I want people I pick, people I can respect who can and will be on my side."

Gwaine heard the carefully worded not-question and smiled. "I don't know you yet, Arthur Pendragon," he said simply. "I can't say that I like you, or have any particular loyalty to you yet, but I'm willing to see whether or not you'll be worth it."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, and then grinned. "Good. Thank you for being blunt."

"It's what I do."

Outside, behind the glass, storm clouds began to gather over the city.

/

Arthur had two other interviews that day, Percival and Elyan. He asked the same question. He received the same cautious answer:

"We'll see."

/

Later that night, the spy phoned the Boss on a disposable phone outside an internet café in the rain. Cars splashed through puddles, and the neon lights lit up the water with streams of color.

"I'm in."


	2. If We Ever Meet Again

**I don't own Merlin.**

**/**

The spy rose from his bed, luxuriating in the feel of satin sheets falling off of him, pooling limply on the bed. His new persona, with its high paying job, had allowed him one of the comforts he loved to indulge in. Strolling stark naked to the window, he rested his hands on the sill and looked out, watching the street slowly waking. Below him, on the opposite side walk, was a slender man, jogging briskly down the street in the pale blue light of pre-dawn.

Merlin Emrys.

His lips curved into a smile. He liked the young secretary, and enjoyed bantering with him. He and the other hires had all become friends with him, and he'd made a point of keeping tabs on the man's life. He was, without a doubt, the key to getting into Arthur's circle. He ordered Arthur's life, ensured that the man didn't lose his temper at important people, kept the appointments the man had made, smoothed over ruffled tempers, and was never far from the man. He could see why The Boss had said that if anyone would know who the Dragonlord was, it would be him. The man was indispensable, and probably knew more about the company's life than Uther himself.

The figure rounded the block, and the spy pushed back from the window, grinning. It'd be nice if he could get between the secretary and boss. He was _almost_ certain the two were having an affair, but he couldn't be sure…_yet._

Another thing to work on in his now busy life, he thought briskly. But before work or play came food.

Wrapping up in a robe, he headed into the kitchen to make his breakfast, mind spinning and whirling with half made plans.

/

Merlin shut the door behind him, snagging a towel off of the counter and ruffling sweat slicked hair. Showering was definitely a must this morning, he thought absently, pulling off his soaked shirt and dropping it in the small closet that held the washer and dryer. After last week's storms, the air was heavy with humidity, thick and all but solid with all of the water that had coalesced in it. He hated it- it made it difficult for him to breathe, and made him sweat disgustingly when he went out for his morning jog.

Plucking a razor bladed knife off of the counter, he absently spun it end over end as he walked into the living room, considering whether or not to wake the man asleep in his bed to join him in the shower. It would be nice, but he really didn't have time to take another nap before it was time to leave. Besides that, Arthur had already gotten his kicks last night. Normally the man didn't come home with him for fear of being seen by someone who knew him, but he'd gotten into another of his infamous arguments with Uther the night before and refused to remain at home. His ego was bruised, and Merlin had to be the balm to soothe it, annoying as that was.

Dropping the knife into its proper holder, inside a hollowed out book, he tossed the towel on the couch and headed into his bathroom, hoping that Arthur was in a deep enough sleep not to wake up when he turned on the water.

/

He wasn't.

/

Elyan stared into the mirror as he adjusted his tie after breakfast, wishing for the millionth time that he'd just followed his father's advice and become a machinist. This was ridiculous, he thought miserably, him in a monkey suit, working as an accountant of all the ridiculous things, and for Uther Pendragon! The man who'd practically had his father killed! His hands tightened against the silk, and he fought for his control. No, Uther hadn't killed his father, over work had, coupled with the fact that Uther was demanding and had stressed him over an elaborate set of railings for their country house. His hands loosened, and he took a deep, calming breath. Now was not the time to get angry.

Picking up the briefcase sitting forlornly on the side table, he glanced once more in the mirror and headed out the door.

/

Percival stood in the elevator, wondering whether or not he'd once again made an enormous mistake. He'd spent half the morning wandering aimlessly through the lifeless apartment, thinking miserably of a time when he'd spent life in a far better place, one that didn't mean breakfast was lean coffee and thin bread every morning. He'd liked his old life, loved the way that he could do anything he want, and no one had cared. He'd simply existed, seen the world, and relished it.

And now where was he? Stuck as an analyst in an impersonal set of offices, his body shoved into a suit, his very life being steadily sucked out of him.

The most interesting things he could look forward to now were his lunch and the gym. How had this happened?

He was jolted out of his miserable introspection as the elevator door clicked open to admit Gwaine.

/

Gwaine was, big surprise, running late. Normally he would have simply decided to run on coffee and sheer will power, but no, he'd decided to have breakfast! And in doing so, he'd managed to make himself late.

The doors to the elevator opened, and he grinned a bit anxiously at Percival as he darted inside. Irony of ironies, all three of the hires had moved into the same building. The doors shut behind him and he turned to stand next to Percival. As always, the man simply smiled and nodded at him, silent and imposing as the statue of the Sphinx. He smiled back, feeling a bit of stress fade away. The man had that sort of influence on people.

He reclined against the wall, feeling the reassuring clicks and whirs of gears behind him. The walls were metal, and fairly reflective. Furtively, he turned and checked his hair.

The elevator stopped, and opened to admit another passenger- Elyan, looking decidedly tired and rather dejected.

They murmured "Morning," at each other, and the doors closed.

/

The spy surveyed the other two members of his morning routine, feeling inordinately pleased with himself. These two were just as suspicious arousing as himself- he'd checked their files, and his own was impressive.

Percival Schloss- Former name Parsifal Munsalvaesche, heir to the powerful German Munsalvaesche family, ran away at 15. Forcibly returned, then shipped off to a German boarding school. In and out of the school sickroom for all sorts of fighting injuries, but graduated as valedictorian, or the German equivalent. Spent several years wandering Europe, ended up with an Oxford education. Now working as an analyst.

Elyan Nevere- Young, black, and forever in the wrong place at the wrong time. Accused of a million things, from purse snatching to first degree murder, never convicted. His sister was a secretary in the Camelot Corporation, and a first class cook by all accounts. Had a talent for metalworking. Father had died of stress, mother had apparently died of some form of cancer. Graduated at top quarter of his high school, in England. Had ended up at MIT for a bit, then at UCLA for reasons unknown. Now working as yet another accountant.

Gwaine Noble- An ex-alcoholic with ties back to the Orkness family, a group of Scottish land holders, and dangerously addictive charm. Barely scraped through high school, managed to get into a second rate college and climbed his way with charm and seduction through the schools scum to the elite. Fought, scraped, scrimped and saved his way into a good university, selling his body on the way out of necessity. Graduated from Oxford on scholarship. Hired to be the Head of PR.

Yes, the spy thought smugly, he was safe.

/

It was a long, long, long day in the office.

Merlin's head drooped over his desk, his body fighting valiantly to remain awake, but certainly about to fail. His fingers twitched in what might have been a pattern. It was simply the spasmodic twitch of a relaxing body. The room was quiet and calm, the only sounds the soft _tick tick tick_ of the clock hanging on the wall.

The calm was delicately broken by a touch on his arm.

Swimming up out of exhaustion, Merlin stared blearily up at deep eyes.

"You alright?"

"Mmm?" He managed, wondering if he was still half asleep.

The face above him curved into a smile. "You're exhausted, aren't you?"

" 'pends on 'oo's asking," he slurred, reaching up to rub at his eyes. He felt like someone had taken an elephant and preformed a fandango all over him while wearing super-sized cleats. Keeping up with Arthur did this to people, and truth be told, it was unusual that he didn't fall asleep at work more often.

"Percival, from Analysis," the blob of face told him.

"Perci- Oh!" He pulled himself upright, smiling at the big man, rubbing sleep blurred eyes. "That's the most I've ever heard you say."

The big man smiled, eyes crinkling. "I get that a lot. Is Mr. Pendragon in? I have the analysis on the Sokiyama accounts."

"Soki- ah, yes, those ones," Merlin muttered. "I can take them. He's probably in a bad mood anyway, and you really don't want to disturb him when he's like that."

Percival grinned his thanks, handing over the files. Merlin took them, murmuring his thanks in return. The Sokiyama accounts belonged to the very powerful Sokiyama family, all of which were about as dangerous as the Pendragon's in Japan. They were coming over to the city fairly soon, and everyone was on edge, struggling to get ready to wine and dine them in to a stupor of pleasure with them. They were vital to the companies health and well being, and a major headache for Merlin, who was arranging everything.

He was reading through the file when Percival said, "Gwaine, Elyan, Leon, Lance and I are headed out tonight to Mary's bar. You want to come?"

Was that _hope_ in his voice? Merlin looked up, torn. He desperately wanted to just get out and about, relax and not have to worry about Arthur's short temper blowing up at Uther and requiring him to play nursemaid, but he knew that Arthur would be a nightmare to deal with if he did. Sighing, he shook his head. "Arthur'll probably have me working late tonight," he said dejectedly. "If I get away I'll show though."

Percival beamed at him. "Right then." He waved and left, Merlin watching him with a mixture of envy and misery. He was jolted out of it when his newest acquisition to the Pages sauntered in.

"Mordred," he said dryly, eyeing the lanky boy. Mordred, tall, black haired, and vain as a raven, had been one of Uther's picks, not his. He was sleeping with half of the people on the fifth floor, which Merlin couldn't have cared less about, and had a bad habit of annoying him, which he did care about. He also acted as Merlin's eyes and ears throughout the building, a miniature spy in his own right. The two of them had a long history together, but that didn't mean they liked each other much anymore. A falling out nearly four years previous had turned the two into complete strangers.

"Merlin," Mordred drawled in reply, dropping a green file on his desk. "From Sampson, on 24. It's to go to Emerson on 34th, and that's Remington's issue." He dropped into the chair on the opposite side of Merlin's desk with boneless grace. "Also, I thought you might want to know that the charming Elyan Nevere's making eyes at you."

Merlin choked on the drink he'd been trying to take. "_What?_"

Mordred grinned. "Kid you not. He's not so bad- certainly better than Arthur."

"Shut up," Merlin said, mortified. "How did you find this out?"

"Stalker pictures on his phone." Seeing the look on Merlin's face, he snorted. "Elyan, that is- I watched him take them. I didn't go through it or anything. As for Arthur, well, it was kind of obvious when you leave his office all breathless and flushed."

Merlin turned a very delicate shade of pink. "As long as you didn't go through anyone's phone…" he muttered, setting down the water bottle. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead. "So, tell me what else you know."

/

The spy was annoyed. Not angry, no, he was above that, but annoyed. He'd gone out of his way to have Merlin try to be there tonight, but it hadn't worked.

He prowled about the apartment, drumming his fingers against his leg in an attempt to think clearly. It wasn't working very well.

On the coffee table, his phone buzzed. The _other_ phone. The Boss's phone.

He answered.

"Yes?"

"_How are things?"_

"They've been better, but I assure you, I'm working on it. It'll take me a while to ferret him out."

A low hum. "_Alright. Hurry, though."_

The spy stared out the window at the city scape. Rain splatters were beginning to show on the glass, and angry clouds were once again forming themselves on the horizon. "I am hurrying. It's just going to be something of a long job, and one wrong move could get me killed, as you well know. Don't worry. I'll find the Dragonlord and dispose of him."

Silence, then, "_I'll be in touch_."

_Click._

/

Merlin closed the door to his apartment, fighting with his coat and umbrella. Arthur, he was disgusted to see, had already made himself comfortable on the couch with no apparent designs on leaving.

"You know," he grumbled, "I do have a life outside of work."

"Is that so," Arthur deadpanned, grinning up at him. Merlin sighed, shaking his head. Dropping his umbrella in the stand and hanging up the oversized coat, he moved into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Nothing inside looked remotely appetizing, and he had the sneaking suspicion that the block of cheese in the corner hadn't looked quite that angry this morning. Closing the door, he straightened, his spine popping and crackling as it relaxed and released the tension it had been holding all day.

"So, any reason you followed me home like a kicked puppy?" Merlin asked, rubbing his back as he walked into the living room. Dropping onto his favorite seat, an incredibly ugly, overstuffed chair the color of mashed peas, he looked expectantly at Arthur, who sighed irritably.

"I just didn't want to go deal with _him_, that's all. I've had enough of this passive aggressive crap he's been giving me lately, and I just don't want to go home."

Merlin ignored the pang of misery that swept through him on that one. He'd known since day one that this hadn't been about love, that it was about lust and anger and something that might be friendship but might as easily have been something infinitely worse. They'd always had something of a fragile relationship after The Incident, but with everything that was going on, it was getting increasingly difficult to deal with each other for extended periods of time, and that hurt.

He was so wrapped in his thoughts, mulling over the recent events of his life, that he didn't notice until Arthur had bumped their foreheads together that he'd gotten up.

"Stop that," the blonde chided firmly. "You're giving me anxiety, sitting there like the world is coming to swallow you up. If you're going to be so broody and miserable, I can just find a hotel."

Merlin's brain processed the horror of trying to deal with Arthur's hotel bills. He shuddered. "You can stay, really."

"Then cheer up, _Mer_lin. It's not like the world ended today."

_Yes,_ he thought as he allowed Arthur to pull him up and towards the bedroom, _but this could end tomorrow, and would you even care?_

/

An hour later, as he stood at the window of his bedroom, hearing the front door close and feeling tears course down his cheeks, Merlin wondered why he'd ever thought this was a good idea.

The rain pounding the window rain in rivulets down, mirroring his pale image, and in the faint reflection, the growing bruise on his jaw became clear.


	3. The Bones of You

**Wolfy is a subtle shoutout to Boys Next Door, a manga by the incredible Kaori Yuki.**

**Title from Elbow's **_**The Bones of You.**_

**/**

Merlin called in sick.

It wasn't something he did very regularly, but he had the sinking feeling that if he went to work today he'd simply end up locking himself in one of the copy rooms and bawling his eyes out.

"This," he announced to the empty apartment as he worked on breakfast with a kind of violent intent, "Is simply ridiculous. It really is. I've had bruises before, I've been beaten before, I've been _dumped_ before! Why is this bothering me?"

The apartment was extremely eloquent in its lack of answer. Merlin sighed, took his plate of eggs and bacon into the living area and wrapped up in an oversized blanket on the couch, flicking on the television. He settled on a supremely boring soap opera with a name he had some vague recollection of hearing before, and watched as so-and-so confronted whats-his-face about cheating on her with that-one-blonde-girl. What's-his-face was apparently notorious for this, and that-one-blonde-girl (who Merlin thought looked something like a white Gwen, which was _really_ weird, and, he was pleased to note, Gwen was _much_ better looking than the blonde) seemed to be so-and-so's best friend, but was really sleeping with her brother. The plotline became steadily more tangled, and Merlin dozed off in the middle of a very loud argument.

/

A faint click had him sitting bolt upright, automatically sliding a hand underneath one of the sofa cushions to grab a small Smith and Wesson .38. Flicking the safety off and cocking it, he silently stood and slipped to the edge of the room, waiting patiently. His head thrummed with blood, despite the fact that he'd just barely woken up, and as he heard the door slide open, he stepped into the hall, gun raised.

Freya looked at him with a supremely unimpressed face. "I'm so glad to see you're still on your toes," she said dryly. "You always carry a sissy gun on you?"

Merlin glowered at her, setting the gun on the counter of the kitchen bar. "No- that was just because it was the closest on hand. You know I like the Sig Sauer better."

She grinned, sauntering in and dropping a bag on the counter. "The Sidhe send their regards," she informed him, pulling up a stool. He sat across from her, curious. Freya worked as a hired gun/bodyguard with the Avalon Team, a supremely talented group of highly trained ex-military. As she was ex-Marine who'd been discharged when Don't Ask, Don't Tell was still in full swing, she'd fit right in. The two of them had met up shortly after The Incident had landed Merlin in the streets, and she'd been the one to point him in the direction of the Dragonlord- his father. They'd been close friends ever since. The Sidhe were the higher-up members of the Avalon Team, and as a general rule they didn't like him.

"What is it?"

She nudged the bag to him. "Take a look."

Slowly, he pulled it open to reveal a small box. Lifting it out, he removed the lid and his eyes went wide.

"Freya," he said carefully, "It this a birthday present or a favor?"

"It's a good-will present. They don't want you getting ticked and coming after them...again. That's Damascus steel- _real _Damascus steel- right there, so treat them nice." She grinned. "Pretty, aren't they?"

Reaching in with trembling fingers, Merlin carefully lifted out a matched set of gorgeous Manji styled _sais_ with black leather bindings. Wide eyed, he turned them over in his hands, amazed by the perfect balance. "I've never seen a pair like this," he breathed, standing so that he could try a few passes with them. "They must be ancient._"_

Freya leaned her head on her hand, smiling as he spun them quickly, going through the basic _kata's_. "No idea. I thought you'd like them. I know how much you adore the sai and the steel- and no, don't ask where we got them. _I _don't even know. You have a sword made of it, don't you?"

"Yeah…" he said, entranced, "Handed down from Dragonlord to Dragonlord since 1400 AD." Reverently, he set the sais on the table, staring at them in awe. "This…this is amazing. I never thought I'd get to see a set of sai's in Damascus steel. It's amazing."

Freya nodded, humming in agreement. "They're beautiful. So," she said with fake innocence, "Where'd that shiner come from?"

His hand flew to his face, draining of color as he felt the bruise. "It's nothing," he said shortly, picking up the blades and taking them into the living room to set them on one of the bookshelves. Freya looked utterly unconvinced.

"Last time I saw you with a bruise, the Dragon had just tried to throw you through a wall," she pointed out in typical dry fashion, following him. "So, who was it?"

He said nothing. He didn't need to. Freya knew him well.

"Arthur, huh? I told you that you shouldn't be messing around with him and the politics that came with him." She sighed, shaking her head and smiling. "But you just can't help yourself, can you, Merlin?"

Merlin stroked the sai's blades. "I suppose not."

Freya gripped his shoulder, squeezing softly.

"Go talk to the Dragon. He'll get it."

/

A small warehouse on the East Side was where he ended up after Freya left. He stared up at it miserably, wondering why he'd come here. He'd long since decided that he wasn't going to be dependent on the man, and after their last argument they'd had, he'd sworn never to come back. Yet, here he was, and inside he would have to go if he wanted to speak to the Dragon. Sighing in frustration, he went up to the door in the wall, fished the old key out of his pocket, and slid it in the lock, hoping he wasn't about to be electrocuted. The Dragon, the counterpart to the Dragonlord, was the person who trained the Dragonlord and acted as his counselor. Kilgarrah had been his father's Dragon as well, and was the only reason that the Dragonlord line hadn't ended at Balinor. He'd taken Merlin in when Balinor, bleeding and broken, had brought him there, heavily sedated thanks to a very nasty woman who'd wanted him dead (another story for another time), and had grudgingly worked them both back to something like health. Balinor had died out on a job not four weeks after he recovered, leaving a shell-shocked Merlin to Kilgarrah's tender mercy.

To his great surprise, the key still worked, turning smoothly in the old, rusty lock. Cautiously poking his head inside, he looked around in the gloom. "Kilgharrah?" He called softly, fearful.

A shuff of fabric on cement sounded, and a growling voice said dryly, "So, the son of the prodigal son returns to me at last. You took your time, Merlin."

Taking that as invitation, Merlin hesitantly stepped inside. Lights flickered on, revealing a large, open area inside where a small plane, a miniature Chinese ship- a junk-, and a perfectly restored, jet black 1925 Rolls Royce were ensconced. Catwalks criss-crossed over head, and on the left side of the warehouse, up a flight of stairs that led to the parapet that surrounded the room was a small apartment. Below, on the ground floors North-East corner, was a large dojo. Standing on the stairs and holding an enormous iguana was a tall man with a pair of pince-nez glasses with silver frames. He wore silver- silver shirt, silver slacks, silver toed boots, and his hair, falling to the middle of his back in spiky strands, was silver as well. Slowly, the man came down the stairs, stroking the iguana. Merlin was relieved to see he was smiling.

Closing the door, he came forward and knelt in the Japanese style, palms flat on the floor, head bowed. His heart pounded violently. Kilgharrah was not a necessarily nice man, and should he choose, he could easily end Merlin's life without a second thought. He resisted the urge to run very fast and very far.

Silver toed boots stopped in front of him, and he held perfectly still.

A sigh escaped the man. "Get up, young man. I can't bring myself to kick you when you look like that."

"And if I stand up, will you kick me then?" Merlin dared, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

A light chuckle, deep and warm, emanated from the older man. "Quite possibly."

Merlin sighed, and stood up nervously, keeping his head down. This was unbelievably embarrassing and awkward, not to mention dangerous.

"Look at me, Merlin."

He slowly looked up into soft gold eyes, and to his horror felt himself starting to tear up. Kilgarrah's eyes widened, and then softened. Setting the iguana down, he pulled Merlin into a backbreaking hug.

"Please tell me," he murmured as Merlin buried his face in the fine silk, "That the other person looks worse."

Merlin choked on a sob and a laugh, and let himself break in his adoptive father's arms.

/

An hour later, Merlin was mostly put back together and holding the iguana where he was curled up on Kilgarrah's couch. The iguana, bizarrely named Wolfy, nuzzled at his hand, making strange purring noises. He grinned down at the creature, giving it a tomato. The iguana made happy noises, snapping the tomato quickly out of his fingers.

Kilgarrah chuckled, sitting beside him with his own plate. Wolfy scrambled off of Merlin's lap, and into his, begging for some of Kilgarrah's sandwich. He gave him a piece of lettuce, and the iguana snapped it up.

"Blasted thing never would eat politely," he said, stroking the spiky head. "And I wanted a komodo dragon, but…well, they're protected for one, and would be expensive to feed for another. So, Wolfy it is. I bought him four months ago."

Merlin smiled at the creature, which was now eying the rest of Kilgarrah's plate. "He's sweet."

"Very," Kilgarrah agreed. Settling back, he looked carefully at Merlin. "So… Are you going to tell me?"

Merlin curled up, hugging his knees, and stared at the small fireplace. It was the central focus of the room, thanks to the fact that Kilgarrah firmly hated the television. "I was stupid," he said quietly. "After I went back, I…I started to remember Arthur. You know, what he was like before… and he took me back, gave me a job, sent me through college, everything. I noticed he was stressed, suggested something to relieve it- Don't growl, you've known that I do these things- and he accepted."

He fell silent for a bit, then continued. "Things got complicated. Neither of us wanted anything serious, but then Uther started pushing for him to marry, and he hates being chained down. He hasn't met anyone who he was interested in, either, and that just set things off. They started arguing, long and loud, and he just got fed up."

"And took it out on you?" Kilgarrah's voice was deadly sweet.

"Not until last night." He explained hurriedly, before Kilgarrah decided to hunt down Arthur, and then said, "We may have done things, but we never went all the way, 'Garrah. Never. I told him from the start that I wouldn't let him do that. I… I want it to mean something, and to be when I choose."

Kilgarrah nodded approvingly. "Good. Now," he said gently, "What are you going to do?"

Merlin shrugged. "Practice. Meditate. Be so excruciatingly polite he wants to shoot me. Be his friend still. Talk to him about it. Break it off, too, I'll bet."

"Good." Kilgarrah was pleased. "Out of curiosity- what did you argue about?"

Merlin's smile was dry. "Whether or not we should stop what we were doing."

/

The spy was _not_ in a good mood. He'd gone to work only to find that Merlin was gone that day, and was thoroughly disgruntled. He'd had great plans for his further attack on Merlin's heart and various other organs, and the man had the indecency to take a day off! It was inconceivable!

"Sir?"

He paused mid-rant, and looked down at the rather amused, dark haired young man who'd just walked in, carrying a green folder. Lowering the small ying-yang paperweight, which he had been angrily talking to, he looked steadily at the man and refused the urge to blush embarrassingly. "What is it?"

"Besides the fact that you're making that poor paperweight quiver in fear, you've got mail." The man handed him the folder. "Anything to go?"

The spy looked at him blankly. "You're a page, aren't you?"

"Yep. Name's Mordred- no, don't look at me like that, I can't help what I got named any more than you can. So- replies?"

"Oh. Yes…Hold on."

It was definitely time to start working on the secretary, the spy thought to himself as he scribbled out a note. Soon. Soon.

/

The next day, Merlin came to work. It wasn't something he necessarily wanted to do, but, as with all things, he had to do it.

He slowly pulled the door to his office antechamber open, and yelped when a yell of "_WHERE WERE YOU?!" _blasted him with all the force of a hurricane. Startled, he peeked around the door to see his twenty four pages all giving him angry, accusing glares with varied amounts of extreme distaste. He smiled sheepishly, and everyone's eyes widened, zooming into the bruise on his jaw. It was quite pretty, in varying shades of purple and green by now, and had blackened on the edges. He was promptly bombarded with a storm of anxiety ridden voices. This, he thought in amusement as he stepped inside, is what comes of hiring young, impressionable college students, never mind that he was barely mid-twenties himself.

"What happened?!"

"Did you get in a fight?"

"Mr. Emrys, are you feeling well?"

"Are you sick?"

"Can I get you water?"

"That looks so _painful_, sir!"

"Are you alright?"

"Sir? Sir? Should I get you something stronger than water?"

"Painkillers?"

"Grapefruit?" This was Mordred, of course, who was looking at him knowingly. "And I have some information for you, as well."

Merlin accepted the grapefruit with glee. Mordred knew very well that that was his favorite snack, and that he had gotten it for him was touching- and a bit worrying, actually. "All right." He raised his voice. "Everyone, please calm down, my head is splitting with the noise."

Instant silence. 23 pairs of worried eyes focused on him (Mordred's were simply amused). He smiled.

"Now, I know you're all a shade anxious about me, and I'm very flattered by this, but please relax. I don't have any life threatening disease, I didn't get into a bar fight, I'm not hurt, per se, no I am not going to tell you how I got it, I just have a bit of a headache and a need for some quiet. I received some rather bad news the other day, and I'm still a bit shaken."

Immediately there was a flurry of women coming forward to coo and make other suitably reassuring noises at him. Mordred looked like he wanted to laugh. Merlin sighed. This was going to be a _very_ long day, and he hadn't even seen Arthur yet. Once he had managed to shoo them off to their respective tasks and lowered himself into his chair, he looked over the organized clutter at Mordred, who had commandeered the other one.

"Well?"

The younger man's smile was crafty, smug, and downright scary. "I thought you'd be interested to hear that you had several very worried people asking about you yesterday. Among them were Gwaine Noble and Percival Schloss, and Elyan Nevere was not exactly what you would call happy for the duration of the day. Noble asked me at least four times where you were, and Schloss grumbled under his breath in angry German, which, by the way, was dead sexy- no French hairball noises. He wears tailored Armani suits, too, you know. Those things don't come cheap. I'd go after him, and I'm planning to unless you get there first, of course."

Feeling oddly flattered by the sentiments expressed, he asked hesitantly, "And Arthur?"

"Oh, his royal pain-in-the-arse stormed around angrily most of the day. He locked himself in his office and we think he was throwing things, but none of us mere mortal pages dared check. I think a couple higher ups might have dared breach his inner sanctum, but I'm not positive. We didn't have to cart anyone out on a gurney, so all went well, in a roundabout sense. So, I take it that it wasn't a good break up?"

Merlin winced. "No. It wasn't."

"What did you fight about?"

"Whether or not to break up."

Mordred gave him dead-pan stare for a moment, the broke into snickers. Merlin rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling. "Yes, it was stupid, alright?"

"_I'll_ say. That's the best thing I've heard all day."

/

Gwaine burst into the antechamber that housed Merlin's desk and flung himself into the chair across from it. The younger man looked up, startled.

"Where _were_ you?" He all but wailed, staring soulfully into the secretaries supremely surprised eyes. "I had to deal with her highness all day long, and he was _horrible!_ I've never seen a man throw such a fit about not having help!" His eyes focused on the bruise on Merlin's jaw. "What happened?" He demanded, leaning over to grab the pointed chin and turn his head to see it better. "Do I need to go and defend your virtue?"

Merlin blinked, and then grinned broadly, gently pulling away. "No, Mr. Noble-"

"Really, it's Gwaine. Mr. Noble is a horrible name."

"Gwaine, then. I'm fine, actually."

Gwaine snorted, feeling inordinately fond of the thin young man. "I see." Sitting back down and settling his ruffled feathers, he surveyed the man. "What to go out for a drink tonight?"

The man stared at him blankly. "Did you come all the way down here from the 24th floor just to ask me that?"

"Would you say yes if that was my reason?" Gwaine asked, eyes wide in innocence.

Merlin stared, and for a second Gwaine's heart sank. It had been a bit of a long shot-

Merlin's lips twitched in what might have managed to be a smile. "Alright then. When?"

Gwaine grinned triumphantly.

/

The bar was on the louder side, and there'd already been a very well executed fight that had taken out a majority of the toughs. This left some poor soul who was apparently celebrating her 21st birthday with a group of friends and the local gossiping businessmen. They made enough noise to allow for a private conversation. They'd secreted themselves into a smaller corner of the room, which, Merlin had noticed, gave them the perfect view of anyone approaching and kept their backs protected. Gwaine had chosen the seats- _someone_ clearly had had practice with this sort of thing. Merlin was halfway through a very tall Long Island Iced Tea (a stupid decision normally, but his temper had flared later in the day and getting stinking drunk had sounded good so…) when it occurred to him that Gwaine was looking at him with a kind of calculating expression.

"What is it?" he asked, feeling abnormally shy. Gwaine smiled, a bit sadly, liquid brown eyes boring into him.

"It was Arthur, wasn't it? No, don't look at me like a deer caught in the headlights, I'm not blind. You two are- make that _were-_ the worst kept secret in the whole building aside from Mordred's traveling copy room entertainment show." He rested his chin in his palm, studying him. "Why'd you stay with him? I never saw any bruises before."

Merlin swallowed hard. Well then- both feet in, he supposed, and the alcohol had loosened his tongue.

"Arthur and I grew up together. My father vanished when I was little. My mother remarried, and I moved in with my uncle rather than deal with my step-father. My uncle is Uther's personal physician, you see, so I was always in their house. I met Arthur, who, by the way, was a spoiled brat-"

"Isn't he still?"

Merlin smirked. "Don't interrupt. Anyway, we somehow got to be friends, and Uther even paid for my schooling so I could stay with him- I was really the only decent friend he had, and Uther was thankfully still sane enough to see that- and we just…we were always together. I don't know why…" His voice trailed off. "Then there was The Incident, and I- I just left, without telling anyone, when I was 18. I stayed away for 4 years, and then dared to go back and apologize. I was figuring that Arthur was going to either have forgotten me or moved on, but when I came back he just hug-tackled me and told me never to do that again. Then he made me his secretary so he could keep an eye on me and…things just happened." He lifted his glass and sipped a bit more. "8 months, by the way. We lasted 8 very long months."

"So, you finally got in a fight?"

Merlin sighed. "Yes. Ironically, it was about whether or not to break up."

Gwaine chuckled, leaning back. "Did you?"

Merlin stared at the scarred table top, tracing the groves that varying knives had carved into the dark wood. "We discussed it this afternoon, and yes." He didn't mention that it had been his idea, and that Arthur's eyes had been more than a bit bloodshot. That wasn't important.

"Good."

Startled, Merlin looked up to see Gwaine watching him with heavy lidded eyes. "Goo-"

Realization hit like a rock. A very heavy, large, spiny rock, tumbling down from the mountainside at an incredible speed and gaining.

"No," he said, stunned. "No way. Not possible. Not a chance. There's no way that you… you…"

"What?" Gwaine said, grinning. "Hasn't anyone ever done this to you?"

"What, take me out to dinner and off-handedly _not_ mention the fact that they find me attractive? No," he said, unbelievably flustered. "No, they haven't. In fact, I've only ever been in two relationships, and one of them ended with a murder, okay?" His heart was pounding hard, and he had the feeling that if this kept up he'd be sobering very quickly. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but bringing up Will had not been good.

"Okay," Gwaine replied, relaxed and calm as ever, though he was clearly curious. A single strand of hair had fallen out of its rigorous pony-tail and was hanging at the side of his face. Merlin firmly squashed the urge to reach out and tuck it behind his ear. That kind of thinking was no good, he firmly told himself. He'd just stepped out of one relationship, and he had no intention of walking straight into another one the day after. But all the same…

"So," Gwaine said, "You going to keep staring longingly at me all night?"

"Staring long- What?! I am _not_ staring longingly!"

"Uh-huh."

/

"This is stupid," he mumbled as they crashed against the wall, his fingers tangling in Gwaine's hair to keep him firmly tethered. "We're both drunk-"

"_I'm_ not drunk, I'm mildly buzzed, thank you," Gwaine mumbled, turning to gain access to Merlin's neck and make himself busy. "_You_ might be drunk though."

"_Ung._ Maybe."

Another crash, a slight curse as Gwaine caught his toe on the edge of the coffee table, and then, praise be, they made it to the bedroom, Merlin fumbling at the handle. They stumbled inside, Merlin tripped, both fell on the bed, and the rest, as they say, was history.


	4. Mayhem

**Mayhem is by Imelda May.**

**I don't own Merlin. **

**/**

"Ooph."

That, Merlin thought through the haze of pleasured pain, basically summed up his entire existence, and he was almost pleased with this fact. It was an almost, because of the fact that a mild hangover was well endowed in its potential to become a very bad hangover. He buried himself deeper into the mass of blankets and pillows, attempting to get deeper into the pile and away from the dawning sun. They'd forgotten to pull down the blinds, which allowed the sun to slam in and torture him mercilessly.

Gwaine, from where he was propped up on his pillow watching him with this smug little smirk on his face, looking very pleased with himself said, "So, let me get this straight. You, are, in fact the man who has been in a relationship for the past- let me see, oh yes, _eight months_? During which you spent none of it actually engaging in full blown intercourse, and you have allowed me to end this term of unbelievable torment for you? Never mind the fact that you were in a relationship with a man, who, may I just say, is quite physically attractive?"

Merlin groaned. "Do _not_ talk about him while you are naked in my bed. Just…don't. Alright? And yes, I did. Can you hand me the painkillers?"

Gwaine complied, still grinning like an idiot. Sliding over, he pulled the thinner man closer, curling up around him and cradling his head. "You make me very happy, I hope you know that."

"That's nice," Merlin muttered, swallowing the pill dry and shuddering at the aftertaste. "Ugh. From here on out, I am keeping a water bottle by the bed."

Gwaine chuckled, and in a complex maneuver went over Merlin to spoon behind him, snaking arms around his waist and nuzzling him gently. "I think that you may just have the most adorable bed-head I have ever seen, by the way. Just saying. It's so cute it could possibly bring about world peace."

"Shut up," Merlin grinned, melting against him and yelping in surprise when Gwaine's hands twitched. "_No._ Not this early in the morning when we both have work."

"Is that an invitation to return?" Gwaine asked slyly, moving his head to nuzzle at the spot just behind Merlin's ear that always made him turn into a pile of helpless arousal. Merlin all but purred, eyes flickering as the painkiller began staving off the headache.

"Definitely."

"Good," Gwaine murmured, bracing himself on an arm to start work on Merlin's neck. "So, breakfast. Pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, what would you like?"

"You?"

"Tease."

/

Mordred took one look at him and snorted in disgust as he sashayed in with all the propriety of a cat. (Mordred, it had been said, could commit sexual harassment just by sitting quietly next to someone.) "You, my friend-"

"I'm not your friend, per se."

"-Are a disgusting baggage. You really are." He flopped gracefully into a chair, and pouted as he handed over a stack of manila folders with multi-colored tabs. "Do you see this?" he demanded, flourishing his hand at himself. "This, my friend-"

"Again with the friend thing, Mordred-"

"-_This_ is the face of someone who spent their night virtuously alone, thank you very much. It's a horrible way to spend life, without another sad, lonely, heart-broken, and -most importantly- _warm_ body beside you, I tell you. It's tragic. Truly tragic. So tragic, that someone needs to write an opera about it. Opera, you know, is the ultimate expression of misery and anguish. You just can't say things the way you can with opera, especially in German. German is the language of woe and tragedy-"

"Ich spreche Duetsche, dankeshön."

"Show off. Where was I?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, wincing as he carefully resettled himself in his chair. "Fetching me painkillers?"

"No, I don't think so." Mordred grinned. "So, who? Tell, tell!"

"Thank you, but no. I don't kiss and tell," Merlin said as firmly as he could, and trying to ignore the fact that his face felt like a bonfire gone nova. Flipping open the nearest file, he began reading through it quickly. "Good grief- I always forget just how horrible Mr. Shaw's handwriting is on the written forms. It's impossible. You need a translator just to figure out the word "the"." Snapping the file shut, he shuttled it into the "Out" pile, along with a plethora of other multi-colored folders. "Take these down to floor 12, would you?"

Mordred gave a wry salute. "Yessir."

/

The spy was almost ready to strangle someone when _that_ phone rang. Excusing himself quietly from the meeting he'd been sitting in with some relief, he stepped outside and took the call.

"Yes?"

"_How fares the war?_"

He shuddered. The Boss's calls had that effect on him, and as he spent more time at the company, he was becoming more reluctant to the idea of leaving. "Business as usual. I'm getting closer."

"_Good. Turns out that I have a job for you."_

"Oh?" he said casually, smiling at a page that went running by, only to realize that it was Mordred. He shuddered and focused on the call. "What is it?"

"_The Pendragon's have been working on getting the Sokiyama family to join up with them for years now. I want the file on them."_

Ah…that made a lot more sense than simply coming in to destroy the Dragonlord- who he was still no closer to finding. He was working his way down a very long list. The Sokiyama accounts were the talk of the company, and he wasn't surprised to hear that they were of interest to The Boss. The Sokiyama had the potential to skyrocket the corporation even higher in the global spotlight.

"Which one? There're hundreds floating around this place." He leaned against the wall, running an hand over his face and resisting the urge to sigh. He still had paperwork to do.

"_There should be a master file in either Uther or Arthur's offices. It will be dark green in color. I need it by Tuesday."_

"Lovely. Tuesday, hmm? Three days."

"_Do what you have to- and if the Dragonlord happens to show…well…kill him with as little fuss as possible."_

The spy's eyes darkened, and he smiled. "Of course, sir."

_Click._

/

Arthur didn't even glance up as Merlin sidled in, focusing on the paperwork spread in front of him with narrowed, angry eyes that betrayed his hatred of desk work. "Yes, Merlin?"

Merlin took a deep breath, sent up a prayer to any deity that happened to be listening at the time, and said softly, "I'd like to talk with you."

The pen Arthur was holding immediately stopped, and the blonde went very, very still, eyes still downward, body hunched protectively. "About?" His voice was neutral, and Merlin knew instinctively that he was afraid. The other man never used a neutral voice when referring to anything unless he was nervous or anxious about something- and there was a definite difference between the two. Taking the tone as permission, Merlin shut and locked the door, striding forward to sit across from Arthur, who finally looked up.

His eyes were wary, and very bright blue.

"I…I may have gotten into bed with someone last night."

Dead silence.

"Do I know them?" Arthur asked, surprisingly calmly.

"Ye-es…" Merlin said hesitantly. "I was a bit drunk, too."

_And that was going to go over soooo well._

Arthur, even when they weren't "involved", had always been a shade overprotective. It sort of came with the territory of a best friend who was a gangly, skinny, nerdy kid with no talent at sports to speak of in a school were sports were everything. He couldn't count the number of times that Arthur had taken someone down because of a joke gone wrong, or a punch that left a rather nasty bruise…or, worst of all, when someone had dared imply that something was going on between them (the irony wasn't lost on either of them). Arthur didn't tolerate people belittling Merlin. That was _his_ job, thank you.

Even with The Incident shoving them apart, and when Merlin had vanished, he found out from Gaius that Arthur had kept the hand knitted scarf he'd made him when he was 10, and wore it every day, or carried it around with him at the university. (That, truth be told, had sent him into peals of tears when he heard, and it still kind of did.) Arthur, despite all his faults and flaws- and there were many- was loyal, and while he could hold a grudge as well as the next man, he was borderline ridiculously forgiving of Merlin.

He had not, however, tolerated Merlin drinking, _at all_. Ever. Not when they were younger, and definitely not now that he had to keep up with Arthur at all times of the day. Merlin might as well start groveling for mercy now, because after seeing the consequences of some of the nastier effects of alcohol on his father, Arthur's attitude was a minimalistic view. He would drink at social occasions, but never at home unless he was entertaining (and those days were few and far between).

Sure enough, Arthur's eyes turned cold. "Oh?"

"Yeah…" Merlin licked his lips. "I kept my head, though."

"Did you now."

"Yes." He said it a bit worriedly, and he wondered if he should even be doing this, but he hadn't kept anything from Arthur after he returned home and he wasn't about to start now. The other man ruled his life with a loose fist that could clench in a heart-beat (his life and schedule revolved around Arthur's), but he was hoping for clemency. If Arthur truly couldn't handle it, he would back off from Gwaine. His life's duty was to protect the other man- his family had done so since the first Pendragon's had climbed out of the peasant classes of England and begun forging their way with typical domineering fashion. Arthur was vitally important to him, and they were linked, just as Balinor and Uther had been linked, though it'd be like pulling teeth to get the man to admit it. Arthur's approval had to happen, or whatever had had with Gwaine was at an end at the first night.

Arthur stared at him for a moment, as if considering some rare plant. "Who?"

"Gwaine Noble."

Dead silence again, and Merlin got the feeling Arthur was counting in his head. _No explosion yet though, that's good…_

"I see," Arthur said slowly. "And just why…"

Merlin felt his face go beet-root red. "Um…it just sort of…happened."

"Ah."

The two of them stared at the top of Arthur's desk as awkward silence descended. Merlin fiddled with his hands.

"Do you…mind?" He asked hesitantly.

Arthur traced part of the desktop. "Not as much as I thought I would," he admitted quietly. "I mean, we both knew it was going to happen eventually, though I really wasn't expecting it to be the next day- that's why we never…ah…"

"Committed."

"Nice choice of wording. But no, I'm not going to go running out of here with a cleaver to avenge your honor or anything." He hesitated. "We've been though a lot and…" he groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I cannot believe we are having this conversation! There needs to be a law! Really! It's ridiculous! You shouldn't have to come to me to know if something's alright, you should just- just do what you want!" Arthur looked up desperately. "Do you know, I can't honestly recall the last time you called me clotpole? It's horrible! There's something very wrong with that, _Mer_lin. What have you done to me?!"

Merlin couldn't help it. He grinned. "Thanks, Arthur."

"Out!"

Merlin jumped up and sped out of the room, easily dodging the tin cup Arthur kept on his desk for just these occasions, grinning like a loon.

/

In his plush office, The Boss considered the man across from him. "I want them _both_ eliminated tonight," he said simply. "There's only so much slowness I can tolerate, you see. I wanted the Dragonlord dead yesterday, and yet my spy is being utterly useless. I had heard of your…talents. I thought I'd put them to good use."

The man fingered the edge of the chair. "It will be expensive," he warned, voice low and cold. "My services do not come cheap, and there is a risk heavily involved, as well as my emotions."

"Emotions?"

"Your spy and I have gotten to know each other very well," the man smiled. "And I may know who your Dragonlord is…"

"Good." The Boss smiled, showing teeth that were far too sharp. "Now, off with you. I want their corpses laid out before me as soon as possible."

/

The spy pulled on black latex gloves, then worked his way into the rest of his suit, making certain the hood covered his entire face but his eyes. Satisfied, he removed it, pulled on a set of clothes he'd purchased from a thrift store down the street over his "work" clothes, and pulled on his steel-toed boots. He knew what kind of guards the Pendragon building had, but wasn't sure of the routes- he was running this entire operation totally blind on that front, and really hoping that he wouldn't get himself killed. He'd been in the building long enough to have memorized all of the cameras he'd need to avoid, and had inserted a bug that would kill the cameras and alarms, but dangers awaited wherever a spy walked. There was also the possibility that the Dragonlord had his own traps and snares in place.

Uther's office was more likely to be handling the documents than anywhere else, admittedly, but Arthur's seemed like the better choice. After all, the vital folders all went through Merlin, so it stood to reason that it would be locked in the other man's office at night to ensure it was kept safe.

The spy flicked his hood up, and smirked. This was going to be fun.

Shoving his favorite gun, a G22 Gen4 Glock, into his inner pocket, he adjusted the hood and headed out into the night, smiling broadly as he fingered the mask in his pocket.

/

Merlin had just inserted his key in his lock when the phone in his pocket shrieked an alarm. Startled, he pulled it out and felt his blood go cold. The silent alarms for the elevator had just gone off. Cursing furiously, he flung the door open and dashed to his bedroom, shedding clothing as he went. It _would_ have to be tonight, he thought furiously as he pulled out a series of gray and black clothing and a flak vest from his closet.

He didn't have time to get into full armor, it looked like, and he needed to get across town quickly. He'd have to be a ninja tonight, and hope that the other person was stupid enough to aim for his chest. Pulling on a Rambo-esque criss-cross set of belts over the vest, he darted into the living room, running his hand over the edge of the bookcase. It swung open on silent hinges to reveal a set of extremely sharp swords, daggers, and other pointy instruments of death, along with a small armory of guns and ammo. In the center of it all was a sword in Damascus steel. This was not ornamental sword, and it had no specific style. It was the essence of a sword, a killing edge with a leather-wrapped hilt, a cross-guard, a pommel of brass, and nothing else.

The name was Brenin yr Dreigiau, which translated to King of Dragons in English. It was Welsh. It was old. And it was the sword that had hastened the death of the Pendragons' enemies since it had been forged. With reverent awe, he took it from its holding prongs, sliding it into the scabbard on his back. A brace of daggers were sheathed in the criss-crossed belts, his small Sig Sauer was shoved in its thigh holster, a set of flash bombs went into side pockets, and a ski-mask like stretch hood was pulled over his head. Goggles equipped with infrared detection and night vision were snapped on, and a small, square gas mask followed.

With that done, he settled himself, threw open the window, and stepped onto the fire escape to race down into the night, headed for the motorcycle he kept hidden in the basement of the building.

There would be blood tonight if he had any say in the matter. _No_ _one_ attacked his home and his people and lived to tell the tale.

/

He found the security guard dead on the 10th floor, his neck snapped and his eyes wide in fear. Merlin gently closed them, heart clenched. The man had been young, barely older than him, and if Merlin remembered right, he'd just gotten engaged to his girlfriend a week ago. The waste of life was disturbing, and worried him.

Slowly, he stood back upright and considered the possibilities. The building was a scant 40 floors, and big. It housed a million and one possible hidey holes, and four staircases were located around the building. There was the helicopter pad on the roof. There were two likely targets in the building- Uther's office and Arthur's.

The Dragonlord chose.

/

The spy was fiddling with the lock on Arthur's office door when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked.

"_Hands up, my friend,_" a voice hissed coldly. "_I want to look into your eyes when you die._"

Very slowly, the spy rose from his crouch and turned, heart pounding his harsh staccato.

Before him stood a figure clothed in solid black, its face totally covered. A gun was held out towards him in a hand that didn't so much as twitch. The spy had the feeling that he was being mentally undressed and resisted the urge to shift away. He didn't want to startle the person into shooting. He was planning on diving under Merlin's desk anyway.

Something seemed off about this person though- it didn't _feel_ like the Dragonlord. It was wrong, slightly off.

"_Any last words?"_

"Yes- Are you the Dragonlord?"

That seemed to throw the being off balance. The gun twitched slightly. "_You mean that _you_ are not the Dragonlord?"_

The spy shook his head. "Nope. Sorry."

The being seemed to stare at him for a long moment. "_Pity._" The gun steadied and the spy braced himself to run when a loud crash sounded. The other spun around and the spy yanked his gun out of where it had been holstered behind his back, only to drop to the floor as a flash-bomb exploded in the antechamber.

When his eyes cleared, the other was gone, but another person had stepped into the door of the antechamber, wearing a flak jacket emblazoned with a scarlet Chinese dragon and a sword on its back.

_Dragonlord._

A single gunshot resounded in the darkness.


	5. The Riddle

**I don't own Merlin. Title comes from the Scarlet Pimpernel.**

/

The Dragonlord darted around the door, unnaturally fast. The second spy had scrambled from where it had been on the floor, gun in hand, and went haring after the Dragonlord.

The spy uncurled from under the desk, and eyed the door to Arthur's office, and decided not to try. There would be other days, especially days where he wasn't about to get killed. He'd try for tomorrow- surely the Dragonlord wouldn't expect a second attack right after the first. Carefully peeking around the door, the spy surveyed the darkness, and then ducked back in when a spatter of gunfire split the silence.

Muttering a curse, he took a deep breath and ran out into the dark and headed for the stairs. It'd be easier than trying to get to the elevators, even if they weren't as safe. He crashed through the door, and began a fast run down the stairs.

A faint mewl of pain sounded when he hit the 23rd floor, and, not quite sure why, he stopped. There was a door there, in the plain white staircase, and as he stared at it, a muffled cry of pain ricocheted through the door. It was weak, soft, and absolutely heart wrenching.

_No. No no no. I am _not_ going to go in there. Whatever it is- whoever it is- could kill me!_

It was a bit late for that, of course, because his hand was already resting upon the door handle and he'd pushed it open, cursing himself for being sappy.

The room was dark- only faint light trickled in through the windows, picking out a shadowy figure on the floor, where it was curled up and clutching its left leg. As he hesitantly approached, the light picked out the blood red dragon on the vest it wore, and the drops of liquid splashed on the floor.

The Dragonlord. He'd walked into the room that held the Dragonlord, the single most dangerous man in the city next to The Boss. The Dragonlord, a killer whose mark was a D carved on the dead person's chest. The wounded, pained, shot Dragonlord, protected only by a vest.

It would be so easy. So, so easy to kill him.

He lifted his gun, cocking it.

The head whipped around, and the spy froze as bright blue eyes bored into him. The goggles had pushed up, revealing the identity of his target in a flash moment. The gas mask covered his mouth and nose, but he'd know the eyes anywhere.

Merlin stared at him, eyes wide, hand on his own gun, which was resting beside him. There was fear and calculation spinning in his eyes, nervous and determined. This was a survivor. This was the Dragonlord.

"No," the spy whispered hoarsely, horrified. "No, please, not you."

He stumbled backwards, but couldn't bring himself to run with those eyes boring into him. Slowly, he lowered the gun, re-holstering it.

Merlin watched him with open hostility in his beautiful eyes as he approached slowly. Slowly, he knelt down and reaching out slowly to pry the hands away from the wounded leg. Another hiss of pain escaped and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. The spy's stomach churned in fear. _Don't let it be bad…_

It really wasn't, merely a flesh wound. The bullet had grazed the skin, leaving a deeper than normal cut that almost looked as if it had cauterized itself. He wasn't surprised at the pain that Merlin seemed to be feeling. The mildest of wounds often hurt the worst. Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out a wad of bandage that he kept around in the event that there would be problems. Merlin shifted uncomfortably, but stayed still as he quietly bandaged the leg, his eyes boring into the side of the spy's head. His inner, money-grubbing killer screamed at him that this was stupid, it was wrong, he should just kill him and be done with it.

_Why? _He wanted to scream. _Why did it have to be you?_

He'd never be able to kill the man now. This meant that, very simply, his life was now forfeit. He'd have to go underground after this. It also meant that his deal with The Boss was now, officially, off. This also meant that he was now out a _lot_ of money.

Tying off the bandage, he whispered softly, "The Sokiyama accounts are in trouble. They're wanted by The Boss. I don't know who the other one was, but watch your back."

Merlin stared. "Why are you telling me this?" His voice was garbled by the mask, and the spy's heart wrenched.

The spy hesitated, and then said harshly, "Because we all are caught in the middle of this, and all the same, I'd rather not see you dead." Hesitating, he added, "I didn't kill the guard. The poor guy didn't deserve that."

Jumping up, he ran out the door, swallowing the hurt and pain as he barreled down the stairs.

/

Merlin stared in amazement after the spy ran out, the pain ebbing from the wound in his leg. Wiping up the blood and thanking heaven's that he was on tile flooring, he pulled himself upright and limped to the door to follow the spy's way out. Pulling the goggles back on, he settled himself, opened the door, and peered down the stairwell. There was no sign of his helper.

Why had he helped and warned him? He could have easily killed him- truth be told, if Merlin had come upon the other like that, he would have. Hmm. Food for thought, certainly, he thought as he swung over the railing of the stairs, and let himself drop. Wind whistled past as his stomach dropped, and he counted seconds.

"Three, two, one!"

Reaching out, he grabbed the railing, swung over the edge, and flipped neatly into the stairwell, wincing as his leg pinged with pain. He needed to get to the lower floors, boot up the camera's, and find out where his shooter was. He checked the number, and grinned. It was the fifth floor- he'd dropped hard and fast and managed to catch himself even with only three years of training. Kilgarrah's other apprentices had never been able to properly manage a freefall drop. Pushing open the door, he glanced around and unsheathed one of his daggers. One could never be too cautious.

/

The Other cursed as he ran down endless flights of stairs. He knew he'd caught the Dragonlord somewhere- he'd heard the harsh gasp that came with pain, and he'd spotted some blood on the floor- but he couldn't _find_ the man! And this was a job he _had _to finish. The Boss did not look kindly upon those who failed him. He'd already had to kill one tonight- the guard- and he was determined to finish the job.

He burst into the fifth floor with his gun up, only to receive a brutal kick to the ribs. Gasping as he flew across the room and crashed into a desk, the Other rolled as a knife buried itself where his head had been. Jumping upright, he squeezed off two shots into the darkness, the bursts of light blinding.

"Bad aim," a voice growled in his ear, and a booted foot slammed into his hip in what might have been a low roundhouse. He gasped in pain as he flew once more, slamming hard on the floor and rolling as another knife stabbed the carpet. Jumping to his feet he grabbed the knife and barely parried as a sword screamed at him. Darting out of reach of the big blade, the Other scrambled for his gun.

It was gone.

Cursing, he bolted, and as the Dragonlord snarled he flew through the door to the stairs and headed down as fast as he could, heart pounding in his ears.

/

Merlin bolted after him, and was about to the door when his leg sent a flare of pain up, making him grit his teeth in pain. _Alright,_ he thought grimly, shoving the door open, _this is going to be one of those days where I visit Kilgarrah. And I _hate_ stitches, dangit!_

The other spy had already escaped. Furious, he slammed a gloved hand on the railing. Two in one night, and he'd missed them both. He was getting rusty.

Slowly, he made his way down the stairs, wincing as he did so. Once he made it to the second floor he pulled out his phone and called Kilgarrah.

/

Kilgarrah firmly whacked him over the head with the flat of a blade as he swore loudly. "Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy. I am not putting up with your language while I'm stitching you up, and most definitely not at this late of an hour."

Merlin gritted his teeth as the needle returned to its work. "It _hurts_, 'garrah."

"So will your head if you keep it up," Kilgarrah retorted, neatly tying a knot. "You've been through much worse than this. Your pride is what's damaged the most, I think."

"Yeah." Merlin ground his teeth as Kilgarrah started again. A sharper tug on the stitching made him cry out in pain, and he was promptly wacked on the head again for it.

"So, I can expect you to come here more often to work on regaining the skills that you have clearly been losing rapidly?"

"Yes, Dragon."

"Good, youngling."

/

Arthur was not exactly happy to be on the receiving end of a phone call at 1 o' clock in the morning. Growling angrily under his breath, he flailed his arms around for a bit, grabbed his phone, and hit "accept".

"This had better be good, _Mer_lin."

"_I wouldn't say good, your royal bad-temperdness, but I do have important things to talk to you about."_

Arthur paused, rubbed his eyes, and pushed himself upright into the pile of pillows he'd been trying to hide in. "Alright, let's hear it."

"_There was a break in tonight." _There was a soft scuffling sound in the background, and a quiet curse.

"Did you get hurt?" Arthur demanded, picking up the cues and wishing he hadn't.

"_It was just a nick- the idiot couldn't even aim, really. That all aside, this was one weird break in. There were two of them."_

"I don't follow." Arthur swung out of bed and started hunting for a shirt. It looked like he'd be paying a visit to the building tonight.

"_The first spy broke in and headed for your office. The second one came in and went after the first, apparently to kill him, killing the night guard on the way up. I showed up, found them outside your office, set off a flash-bomb-"_

"You set off a _flash-bomb_ in my _building_?!"

"_It was necessary, and it was in _my _antechamber! Anyway, the second one shot at me, I ran, then he shot again and got me in the leg. I took the elevator down to the twenty-third floor, where to my great and utter surprise, the first spy found me. This is the weird part. He didn't attack- just the opposite. He came and bandaged up my leg, told me that someone was after the Sokiyama account files, and ran off." _There was a pause, then Merlin said in a low voice, "_I think we know him. I think he recognized me. He said that we all were caught up in this, and that he didn't want to see me dead._"

Arthur shivered, buttoning the shirt. "Great. Where are you?"

"_My apartment. You're about to go to the building?"_

"Yeah- look, what's our cover story?"

"_Silent alarm that goes to your phone went off,"_ Merlin said promptly. "_Your door was being tampered with."_

"Alright then. See you in a bit. Do we have to do clean up?"

"_A bit."_

/

The spy stared at the phone that was linked to The Boss like it was a snake about to attack him. He could buy some time if he was lucky, but that wouldn't necessarily mean that he could buy time for Merlin. And now that he was being hunted as well…

He picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialed.

The Boss picked up on the third ring.

"_Yes?"_

"Did you send the assassin?"

Silence, then,

"_Yes."_

The spy growled. "Thanks to him, the entire night was blown. I could have had it!"

A silence that seemed surprised. "_What? You could have?"_

"Yes! I almost had the door open when your boy showed up and tried to off me!" Wincing, he rubbed at his face to get the feeling back. He knew he must look horrid, but at the moment that didn't seem particularly important. He made his way to his liquor cabinet. "I'll have it soon."

"_And what makes you think you will?"_

With a deft hand, the spy popped the lid on a bottle of vodka.

"Trust me," he said softly. "I can get in."

A life for a life…a fair deal. With a grin, he toasted himself, snapped the phone shut, and downed the glass.

/

Merlin righted a desk and reorganized the papers on it, wrenching out his knife. Arthur had just finished with the other one, and was examining the door to the stairway.

"We ought to put alarms on these," he mused.

Merlin shook his head, coming over to stand by him. "No- too many of the employee's keep fit that way. And not only that, but the pages use them when they have to go floor-to-floor."

Arthur grunted, pushing open the door and stepping into the stairwell. "Lovely," he muttered as Merlin joined him, slowly descending down to the fourth floor. "And he just ran out?"

"Yep."

Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Cameras?"

"Looped."

Arthur swore rather creatively and sat down on the stairs. Merlin joined him, wincing.

"Now what?" Arthur asked absently.

Merlin sighed, leaning back against the next step. "I don't know," he admitted. "I really don't know."

/

The Boss descended into the darkness of the cellar under his small house, pulling a chain on a light as he did so. The incandescent bulb flared to life, and the denizens of the cellar shrank back, muffled cries and whimpers scenting the air as they saw him. It was a dull, dingy place, and the floor was made of dirt. The bodies that covered it writhed and pulled away as he slowly stepped forward and down, a smirk playing on his lips. These were his personal favorites, his creatures, his adored and feared minions. They were feared by others, but in turn, they feared him.

Bright, fearful eyes watched him as he stepped onto the floor, smirking at them. In his hand he held four small loaves of bread.

"Alright, children," he chuckled in a sing-song voice, "Who wants to go topside?"

Immediately people, though they could hardly be called that anymore, their minds twisted and warped from grief, pain, and violence, surged forward, laying prostrate at his feet, mouths open like chicks waiting for their meal. The Boss's smirk grew, and he ripped a hunk off of the bread, tossing it to the smallest, who was in the back. Immediately some of the larger captives attacked, clawing and snarling for the scraps. The smallest one dropped it and scurried off to cradle the wounds. The Boss, displeased, kicked out with his boot and got one of the attackers in the ribs. The man yelped, dropping the bread and letting it be stolen by another.

The Boss made his way to the smallest, who looked up at him in terror. He dropped a whole loaf of bread, and the smallest's eyes went wide. Everyone else sat perfectly still, watching and waiting to see if they could run forward and grab the bread from the tiny, scrawny man.

"Want to go topside, A-7713?"

/

Merlin typed furiously, eyes pried open to keep his focus on the paper beside him as he did so. It was the largest folder on the Sokiyama's, the file on all of the people within the family's weaknesses and ways to exploit them. It was vital for the people who would be wining, dining, and seducing the Sokiyama's, who would be arriving in the city in a week or so.

There was a soft knock on the side of the door to the antechamber.

"Enter," he called without looking away from the papers.

"I'm glad to see you're so loving, my dear."

A rush of warm wind swirled around him, and Gwaine stepped behind him to give him a hug around the shoulders. Merlin grinned as the man lightly kissed the top of his head, tearing his eyes away from the papers. "Hello, you."

"Hello to you too," Gwaine grinned, pulling back and dragging a chair over. "So, you up for a dinner-date tonight?"

Merlin's fingers stuttered in their typing, and he turned to stare at Gwaine, face burning. "Date? Dinner?"

"Yep." Gwaine's grin widened as Merlin stammered out a pleased reply. "You're off at 8, yeah?"

"Y-yes," he managed, feeling ridiculously happy. He'd never in all actuality gone on a dinner date, and he was seriously hoping that he didn't screw up royally. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see. Dress nice."

Spinning out of the chair, Gwaine swooped over and kissed him quickly, then strode out the door, leaving Merlin absolutely ecstatically pole-axed.

The door to Arthur's office clicked open, and he grinned out at Merlin. "Nice."

Merlin went pink and hurriedly returned to his work.

/

The Other watched as the spy worked, contemplating the best way to go about killing the other man. It would be best if he could simply kill him in the apartment, but that would leave a horrible mess, and he was certain that he would miss _something_. Everyone always did.

The phone beside him rang.

"Hello?" He said, watching the spy as he waited by the elevator.

"_Hello,_" The Boss's voice purred. "_I have a team for you. The spy will go in to the building tonight- he says he has a way in. Then you can go in, get the Sokiyama files from him, and dispose of him and the meddlesome Dragonlord, who, I am sure, will be there."_

The Other nodded to himself. "Alright. Where can I get the team?"

"_Don't worry, my friend…_They_ will find _you_."_

_Click._

/


	6. Extreme

**I don't own Merlin. Extreme is by Valora. I do not own so much as a bottle of Oscura Lágrima,** **and it would be very awkward if I did.**

/

The Other did _not _like this.

He moved silently through the dark shadows of the alleyways, neck prickling with the eyes of the team behind him.

He'd heard about The Boss's pets. They were called "The Dorocha", though he had never heard them called that by the Boss. They had no names, it seemed, starved of affection and food for so long that their only thought was total obedience for whatever reward The Boss would shell out to them. On the inside of their arms were tattooed letters and numbers- it was the only way that they responded to him, in their cold, silent way, was if he spoke the combination. They unnerved him. They were silent but even without words he could feel their terrible hunger leaking from their bodies. They were frustrated, they wanted to attack…they wanted to kill.

This was useful. The Other had met people like that, and once you knew how to control them you would be fine.

In this case, the trigger was food. Lots, and lots, and lots of food. Not chocolate though, or anything sweet. He'd tried giving a Skittle to one of them and the poor guy had collapsed with sugar overload. The others had simply stared down at the poor guy with amused lack of pity. Bread though- bread was good. Rolls were especially good. Flames could be curling out of a building, but if he'd tossed a roll in he had no doubt that they would have thrown themselves in after it.

He glanced back to look at them. 10 eyes glittered at him from behind ski masks, and whippet lean bodies curled and coiled around the darkness, absorbing it. Most were small and lean- the smallest looked to be a bare 5 feet 3 inches, maybe less. The tallest was around 5 feet 9 inches, and was a shrimpy 5.9 at that. They were dressed identically in black, with no body armor visible as far as he could tell, and all carried knives rather than guns. He'd questioned that, but The Boss had laughed and told him that his light, deadly killers were faster than most snipers, and were still strong enough to snap arms quickly and efficiently. He didn't doubt it. Even the small one, who was the most jumpy and had enough of a black eye to make him question the existence of a new planet, was fast and strong. Even creepier than the eyes, though, was the sheer disturbing _intelligence_ behind those eyes, the cold, cruel intellect that he knew watched and learned from him as much as he learned from them.

He reached the edge of the alleys that they could traverse silently, lifted a hand, and pointed up ward.

Immediately, the swarm rushed forward, hands gripped the edge of the building and began to climb. The Other smiled. They would meet him at the edge of the Pendragon's building, traversing across the tops of the buildings while he slipped through the streets.

Silently, the Other smiled and stepped onto the busy streets, another nameless black hoodie in a sea of people floating and flowing around him.

/

Merlin was floating, he was fairly certain. Dinner had been at a small, extremely expensive restaurant named simply "45". It had nothing so crass as a number on its ink black menu, and contained things that were in a multitude of languages, along with supremely dangerous to make (such as something flambéed. Merlin had nearly had a heart attack) . He'd had some sort of flambéed pastry thing that had been so delicious it was probably sinful to consume, been flirted with, eyed by varying waiters of varying types, and in short, thoroughly had a fantastic time. The drinks had been _sublime_, something called Oscura Lágrima that had very nearly made him consider just how big the backseat of the Desoto was. (Actually, he had considered it, and remembered that his legs were very long and spindly. Definitely a no, and this was a _date_, not another drunken incident. …Yet.)

It had been a close cut thing though, in the end. They made it through his door before Gwaine pulled him close and began an exceptionally talented assault on his mouth. Every barrier that he'd had up was systematically shut down, removed, and pushed aside for later, leaving plenty of room for Gwaine to take control. Merlin wondered faintly, with what tiny fragment of his brain was still able to create a thought, whether this had been learned or was natural. _He'd_ certainly never been this good.

Gwaine moved to begin work on his neck, leaving Merlin a shivering mess of tension and pleasure. The kitchen, which was what the front hall opened to, with the living room beyond, was somehow where they ended up, Merlin pressed against the counter, Gwaine lavishing attention on his neck. His shirt was halfway undone, the tie and jacket long since shed in the hall by Gwaine's jacket (the man didn't wear a tie), their shoes and socks. Gwaine's hand was moving steadily lower when Merlin's leg hit one of the knobs on the drawers, right on his wound. He winced, and Gwaine froze.

"You didn't start bleeding again, right?"

Instant clarity.

With a _xhing_ of steel, Gwaine was slammed up against the refrigerator, Merlin's razor sharp carving knife pressed hard against his throat, along with a hand that was much stronger than it looked.

Merlin's heart felt like it was about to implode. _Why? Why did it have to be _him_?_

"Give me a reason," he said softly, "Not to kill you right here like the traitor you are. I told no one that I hurt my leg, and I'm trained not to limp, which means that you know who I am. You broke into the place that I am sworn to protect. You very nearly endangered the life of someone that I am bound by blood to protect. And, to top off all of that, you dared to get me into bed with you. I let you into my home, my heart, _my damn body_, and you betrayed me. Give me a reason, Gwaine Noble, if that is what your name really is."

Gwaine swallowed hard. "You know," he replied softly, "I was planning on telling you. I can't kill you- that's what I was hired to do. I wanted to ask for your help. And that is my real name. I don't use it often."

"And you did so by getting into bed with me?"

"I didn't know that you were supposed to be my target until last night, I swear it."

Merlin's eyes may as well have been made of ice. Cold, rational intellect writhed behind them processing and examining Gwaine's words for any sign of more treason than what had already been committed. He eyed him with the exact same look that a komodo dragon gives the creature it is about to attack, kill, and subsequently devour whole.

"Talk fast. Tell me everything, and if I think you lie..." The knife almost lovingly pressed a little harder, then backed off.

Gwaine licked his lips nervously. "I was hired by The Boss to kill the man known as The Dragonlord. I didn't ask questions. He arranged for my hire within the company, and told me to get close to the people who surrounded Arthur. I got close to you, as you were close to him. Then, you broke up with Arthur, or whatever, and I decided that I liked you well enough anyway, and went out of my way to meet you. I liked you, you see, and you were important. I figured that you must be the one to control the Dragonlord, since you controlled most of the rest of the building from behind the scenes. Anyway, we went out, I got buzzed, you got drunk, we had _very _good sex-"

"You couldn't have skimmed that?" Merlin said, grinning in spite of the situation.

Gwaine's grin was misty. "Hells no. I don't think I'll ever forget that. I don't think I'll ever forget your face either. _Gods,_ you're gorgeous." Merlin went a delicate shade of incredulous pink, and pressed the knife a little harder against his throat as a reminder of was happening. "Anyway, he called up the other day and said that he wanted the Sokiyama master file. I thought that I'd just kill two birds with one stone- get in, get the file, kill you as you rush in on the way out. But the Boss had decided that I was too slow, and called in the other guy. He was supposed to kill me, take the file, and kill you. But things went bad."

"Because I showed up," Merlin said quietly.

Gwaine nodded. "Yes. But I'm glad you did, because otherwise I would be would be dead as a doornail. Anyway, I was on my way out, intending to save my own pathetic skin, and I heard you. You know it from there, yada yada, I went home, called the Boss, chewed him out about the fact that he was trying to kill me, and then, and this is where my plan comes into play, darling-"

"Don't call me that."

"-Beautiful-"

"Or that."

"-Adored flame of my heart-"

"Gwaine!"

The knife pricked him firmly, and Gwaine sighed. "In any case. I told him that I would get the file tonight, and get it to him soon. But, and you'll think I'm so smart, _I'm not going to give him the real one_."

"What?" Merlin said, an eyebrow twitching upward in a very good impersonation of his uncles. Gwaine smiled, despite the blade.

"You've worked on the file since day one. You know everything in it. So, what we could do is have you make a fake version. I deliver it, and we're both saved. Well, I'm saved, and you won't have to deal with the idiots trying to attack your building again." Gwaine smiled winningly. "It's a win-win situation, _and_ you won't have to kill me."

Merlin's phone beeped in his pocket. Without taking his eyes off of Gwaine, he pulled the phone out with his free hand, and felt his body go rigid.

"What? What is it?"

Merlin swallowed hard. "There's been another break in," he said shortly. Tapping the phone, he brought up the live feed from the cameras on the floor where the alarm had been triggered and felt horror sweep his body. "_Dorocha."_ His eyes snapped back to Gwaine. "We'll discuss this later."

"Wha-"

Merlin firmly whacked the man firmly on the back of the head. Gwaine's eyes rolled up into his head as he fainted neatly without a sound. Merlin caught him, and pulled him to the bedroom, cursing violently and complaining angrily to his apartment the whole time. Heaving the heavier man onto the bed, he quickly stripped off Gwaine's shirt, checked him for weapons (a single dagger that was razor sharp, hidden cunningly inside a hidden pocket in his pants against his leg), and pulled his own knife from underneath the pillow. Depositing it in the laundry basket with the pillows, sheets, and comforter, he grabbed two sets of handcuffs from the bottom drawer of his bedside table and neatly cuffed him to the bed.

"Oh, I am _so_ going to regret this later…" he muttered, and began to dress in his Dragonlord gear.

/

The Other didn't see as A-7713 slipped away. The other Dorocha didn't care- they were hunting about in the building, skulking about in their hungry, dangerous way. A-7713, who had had seen a small room with a thing that he vaguely remembered being called a "fridge" in it, and if he remembered right, this fridge would hold food. And food, well…food was good.

Food meant that he would remember things, with the mind-numbing hunger gone. If he had no hunger, he had no blocks, and had no reason to fight with the others, which meant that he would be safe. Well, safer. No one was safe as a Dorocha, not with the Boss running things.

Sniffing, he followed his hyper-sensitive nose towards the room.

/

Merlin curled his fingers around the grip of the knife waited for a half a heartbeat as the Dorocha walked around the corner, and neatly stabbed the man through the heart. There was a faint gurgle, and he fell to the floor. Expressionless, Merlin pulled the knife out, neatly carved a "D" in the right cheek, closed the man's eyes, and sheathed the blade.

One down, four to go, if the camera's had captured them all. Checking the cameras with the phone in his hand, he surveyed the multiple views and picked out the spots where the Dorocha were prowling. He blinked in confusion. Three of them were with the Other spy, and one of them…

Was _raiding a refrigerator?_ What?

/

A-7713 stared in dumb-founded amazement at the incredible view that had greeted his eyes when he opened the fridge.

Food.

_Piles_ of it. _Mountains_ of it. Small landslides of food, and drinks, and sugary things that he knew he definitely shouldn't eat or he'd end up like B-4435, twitching and unconscious. Oh, but he wanted it sooo bad. How long had it been since he'd had a proper meal? There were just mounds of food in here- surely it wouldn't be wrong if he had some of it, when they had so _much_.

His fingers spasamed as he nervously reached in, breath coming in quick little pants, steaming in the cold air from the fridge-thing. He reverently gripped the box of plastic, and pulled it out. Working the lid off, he stared in hungry appreciation of a ham sandwich.

A soft sound startled him, and he whirled around, clutching the sandwich as the hilt of knife swung forward and hit his temple, neatly stunning him.

/

Merlin stared in surprise at the small man as he crumpled to the floor, clutching the sandwich.

_Well,_ he thought, nonplussed, and reached down to pick the tiny man up. He weighed virtually nothing, it seemed, and Merlin felt a flash of anger at that. Pulling the ski mask off, he shook his head in horror at the emaciated state of a person who could barely be more than 19 years old. "Poor thing," he muttered, and headed to the janitors closet on this floor. With each step, he felt a bit more anger at the Boss, for letting his Dorocha starve. He'd starved once- it wasn't an experience he'd wish on anyone, and the thought of some unfortunate kid being forced to all but die in order to become a mindless killer… His fingers tightened on the wiry arm. He'd keep the boy for an informant, hand him over to Kilgarrah for torture if necessary. This one seemed more human than the others he'd encountered over the years, so torture probably wouldn't be needed.

He _had_ met up with the Dorocha before. The first time had been when he was running around town looking for a place to stay, trying to stay alive. He'd interrupted a pack of them when they were hunting for some poor soul, and nearly been torn to shreds, but he'd escaped. Over time he'd met more- mostly in packs of 5 and 6, but occasionally a couple out on some sort of personalized hunt. They were all mute, cold, and as vicious as wolves when they scented weakness. He didn't know much about them, really. No one did. They were just the Dorocha, as feared and reviled as their owner was.

He made it to the janitors closet, pushed open the door and slipped inside. Twisting a coat hook, a section of the wall swung out to reveal a tiny room with a small, glowing night-light and padded, sound-proofed walls. Depositing the Dorocha inside, he was about to close the door when he hesitated, and handed him the sandwich as well.

/

The Other strolled into the antechamber that held Merlin's desk, smirking as he ran a finger over the neatly stacked files. None of them were the Sokiyama file, of course, but he would soon hold that in his hands.

The Dorocha stood silently behind him, staring with their glittering eyes. He waved them away.

"Go look through the building. Kill anyone you find."

The group nodded as one, and slipped out of the room.

The Other nodded to himself, pleased, and turned to survey Arthur Pendragon's door.

"Well, Mr. Pendragon," he smirked, "Let's see what secrets you hold…"

/

The Dorocha were padding down the halls of the 37th floor, systematically working their way through the endless rounds of desks and such when the Dragonlord hit.

For the most part, it was a quick, mostly painless fight. The Dragonlord didn't go in for excruciating torment, or unnecessary roundhouses unless he was alone, and where Kilgarrah wasn't about to call him out for useless energy expenses. The first was a neat stab to the heart, the sword cleaving effortlessly through bone and what pitiful protection the Boss had given them, the second a swift headshot with the gun in his other hand, and the third got his neck snapped.

Panting slightly, Merlin looked down at the bodies, and realized with a faint horror that he had just killed three people. Staggering against the wall, he took deep, heavy breaths, wishing that for once he could be rational about this, just like every other time. But the Dorocha…After carrying the kid, they had become people.

_Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Rule number one, do not get attached! _

Groaning, he pushed off the wall, wiped down his blade, picked up the shell casing from the floor, and made his way to the stairs.

/

The Other gave a harsh bark of pleased laughter as the lock to Arthur's door clicked open. Rising, he grinned and pressed his hand to the lock when a sound made him pause.

Frowning, he turned, pulling his gun out of its holster and stalking toward the door. Sliding out, he searched the darkness for any movement. The room was dead silent, the only light coming in from the windows, looking out into the city lights.

Straightening, he reholstered his gun and turned.

A boot slammed into his chest, a knife protruding from the toe catching his chest. Yelping in pain, the Other fell back and barely rolled out of the way as a sword shrieked through the air, nearly cutting him. Scrambling through his feet, he grabbed papers off of the nearest desk and threw them, running towards the elevator. He heard a soft curse, and then a _thud_ of booted feet slammed against the floor as the man leaped inhumanly far, landing in front of him like some sort of ninja spider.

He recoiled, trying to get away.

The Dragonlord pounced, pinning him like a bug to the floor. He thrashed, kicking hard enough and managing to catch the Dragonlord on the thigh. The man cried out, hands loosening in pain, and the Other jumped away only to crash down hard when the sword slashed across his back.

The Dragonlord pulled himself upright, and stepped down hard on the wound. The Other whined in pain, writing like the pinned bug he was.

"_Tell me_", the Dragonlord rasped harshly, "_Did you think about what the Dorocha went through when he let you use them?_"

/

Merlin didn't know what went wrong. One moment, his sword was raised, ready to impale the bastard, and the next the creature had slipped out like some slippery octopus or something and had ran for the elevator. Screaming an enraged curse, he gave chase and about had the guy when the elevator doors opened, and then closed with the Other inside.

Slamming his hand on the closed doors he dashed for the stairs and was about to swing over when his leg twinged in agonizing pain. Cursing violently, he gripped his wound and limped for the stairs, but couldn't make it, collapsing by the edge. The cold, emotionless white of the stairwell didn't help in any way, shape, or form.

Slamming his hand against the floor in frustration, he refused to let himself cry. Twice now. _Twice_. Kilgarrah was going to beat him black and blue for this. He knew better than to let things like this happen. Resting his head against the floor, he gritted his teeth and pulled out his phone to look at the camera's. The Other was exiting the building and not looking back.

Sighing, he flicked it back to the main screen and called Kilgarrah.

/

"Listen to me, you idiot, you are going to kill him as soon as you see him next time. None of this stupid talking through things- are you listening to me, boy? Don't you _dare_ try that one again. It's all fine and dandy in stories, but when you've got a gun to someone's head you _shoot_, you don't let them spill their damn life story for kicks and giggles. I thought I taught you better than that."

"Yes, master. I'm sorry, master."

They were in the van, headed to Kilgarrah's warehouse, with one bound and gagged Dorocha and four dead ones. The bound one was incredibly cooperative, and had even held out his hands for Merlin to bind when he'd opened the door to the holding room. Merlin had been thoroughly chewed out in very colorful language for about five minutes, and Kilgarrah had finally calmed down enough for him to get a word in edgewise.

He glanced in the back, to see bright eyes looking at him anxiously.

Sighing, he turned back around. He hadn't taken his mask off yet.

Kilgarrah took a hard right, and they entered the ramp that went beneath the warehouse. "I'll string the little one up. You take the others to the ice room, _if_ you can manage that without screwing everything up. I'll dispose of them later."

Merlin swallowed his pride, and lowered his head to do as ordered.

/

Kilgarrah examined the sad, thin creature currently chained between two poles in his basement. He was skin and bones, with huge blue eyes and skin so pale he could swear he was able to blue veins through it. Sighing, he walked forward and ran a careful hand over the bare chest, counting ribs and wondering in cold introspection why the man didn't pull away. The man watched him with those huge eyes, unblinking and unflinching even as he fingered the tattooed letters and numbers. Kilgarrah watched with cold calculation as he reached up, cupping the man's face and pulling him close. The only sign that the Dorocha was concerned was the way he gnawed at his lip.

"What have you been put through?" Kilgarrah asked softly, making sure he exhaled through his mouth. The man's tongue flicked out, moistening the sad lips, obviously feeling the rush of warm air and inhaling in kind. There was something oddly sexual about this sad little scrap of humanity, he thought wistfully, but he was about 40 years too old for the kid, and Merlin would slaughter him for even considering it besides. He released him, and headed back out the door, picking up Wolfy as he did so.

Merlin was heading down the hall toward him, his face exposed, eyes tired. Kilgarrah smiled thinly at him. He was carrying a bowl full of pieces of bread and slices of apple.

He nodded towards the room. "In there. He's chained."

"Thanks, 'Garrah."

Kilgarrah nodded, and moved to leave, but Merlin lightly touched his arm. "Come in with me?"

Kilgarrah eyed him. "Don't think you can handle a man who's maybe 90 pounds?"

Merlin gave him a mildly pleading look.

Kilgarrah sighed. "Fine," he said, exasperated.

/

Merlin approached the thin man, and watched as the blue eyes snapped to the bowl. He pulled up a chair and sat, resting the bowl in his lap.

"Here's the deal. I give you food, you answer my questions-"

His voice trickled away as the man opened his mouth and looked at him, doing a very good impersonation of a starving baby bird.

/

Half an hour later, Merlin had a bowl of nothing, and the Dorocha was asleep on Kilgarrah's couch, his head in the Dragon's lap. In half an hour, the man had completely won over the Dragon, and Merlin got the feeling that nothing was going to keep the Dragon from keeping him now. The Dorocha, in turn, seemed quite taken with him, and had followed him with something akin to hero-worship. After Kilgarrah had watched the baby-bird act, he'd all but melted and let the man out of his chains to go to the bowl of food.

"Do you think we'll get any info out of him?" The Dragon said quietly, to keep from disturbing the sleeping man. Merlin smothered a smile as the Dragon pulled a warmer blanket over the sleeper. The man shifted slightly, nuzzling against a silver-clad leg and eliciting a small smile from the Dragon.

"Most of them are mute. I'm not sure if he knows how to talk. He tried, remember, when you asked him, but no sound, so I don't know." He sat down heavily in a chair, setting the bowl on the coffee table with a sigh. Rubbing a hand over his face, he said dully, "I just hope this doesn't keep up every night. I need the sleep. Arthur's been running me senseless."

"Remind him who keeps him safe, and that might help," Kilgarrah murmured, gently sliding out from under the thin man. Standing, he stretched, his back popping and crackling as he did so. He gave Merlin a sharp look, nodding towards the door.

"Mm," was all Merlin said, rising as well with some trepidation. He knew what was coming. "Dojo?"

"Basement."

/

Gwaine was about frantic when the doorknob turned and Merlin stumbled into the bedroom at 2 in the morning.

"Where have you _been?_ Do you have any clue how worried I was? You might have taken me with you-"

"Shut up, please," Merlin said, his voice hoarse and tired. Gwaine complied, watching with mild horror as the Dragonlord began to strip, revealing huge welts that crossed his back in horizontal stripes. There were ten, evenly spaced.

"What _happened?_"

Merlin glared weakly at him, stripping off his pants to reveal mottled bruises. "Your best friend decided to invade again. I fought him off, killed four people, captured a tormented, tortured creature who is now living with my mentor, and because I let the guy go twice, said mentor reminded me of my obligations and that I'm not supposed to show mercy by not showing mercy to me." He winced, limping to the bed. "Please don't try and kill me, I really need the sleep."

He flopped onto the bed, groaned, and rolled back off to go get the comforter. Gwaine sighed. "You could just curl up with me," he said hopefully.

"The only reason I'm not sleeping on the couch is because this bed was designed for me," Merlin said acidly, "And I have every intention of using it." He dragged the comforter and two pillows onto the bed, and buried his head in the one of the pillows, having thrown the other one at Gwaine.

Gwaine sighed.

Silence fell.

"You know, I think I'm in love with you."

"Really now."

"Oh yes."

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me."

"It didn't occur to you that I was serious?"

"No. We've known each other maybe a month, you idiot."

"So?"

"There's no way that anyone can fall in love that fast, or in love at all."

"Wanna bet?"

"No."

"Do you at least like me?"

"I liked you a lot more when you weren't talking."

Silence.

"Merlin?"

"_What?_"

"In the morning, let me fix your back?"

"…If I say yes, will you let me sleep?"

"Yes."

"Yes, then."

Silence.

"Good night."

"Good _night_, Gwaine."

/


	7. Elephant Love Medley

**I don't own Merlin. Elephant Love Medley comes from Moulin Rouge.**

**Thank you to the lovely Aranna Undomiel (who didn't get a reply last time, mi dispiace), F-D, CtcKid, .belle, FantasyFlinger (Who caught the meaning of A-7713, congrats for knowing your history), Toolazytologin (whose name is full of WIN), Ricoch3t, grimreaper101, EachPeachPearPlum (who is glorious) and quoththeraven5 for reviewing.**

/

Dark street. Raining. Raining absolute _buckets, and cold and-_ Leaned dizzily against a filthy wall, someone's filthy hands covering his mouth, hands ripping at his clothes, what was left of them at least, whispered threats in his ear, harsh panting, hot air against his neck as his belt, worn out as it is, gives way, a woman grinning in smug triumph-

_Bang. Bang._

Body falling, head split wide open.

Him, staring, speechless horror, a killer standing there, cold as the rain- _he just saved me-_

"Run for it kid."

He stares. Just…just stares, shocked by this man, covered in brown clothes that are all but rags. Man sighs, walks forward, kicking the bodies away. Reaches out. He shrinks back. Flash of anger in half-hidden eyes.

"Not gonna hurt you, boy. You got a name?"

Name? So long…So so long ago… He tears up.

"Merlin- Merlin Emrys."

The man freezes. Unfreezes.

"Balinor Laird."

/

Merlin woke with a shuddering gasp, sitting bolt upright and ignoring the pain that flared up in his back. Gwaine started, and opened his eyes blearily against the morning lights that were coming in through the window.

"Merlin? You alright?"

His stomach heaved, and he launched himself out of bed. From behind him he heard Gwaine mutter, "Evidently not."

/

In his feverish haze of sick, Merlin nearly decapitated Gwaine when the man knelt beside him and draped a blanket over him.

"Whoa, hey there, calm down-"

"How'd you get out?" Merlin slurred, the knife trembling in a thin, shaking hand. Gwaine gently took it from him, and set it down on the sink counter.

"I had a handcuff key hidden in the hem of my pants," he said soothingly, running his hands over the tense shoulders. "I promise I didn't use it until now."

Merlin just looked at him with sad, miserable eyes, and Gwaine gently pulled him into his lap, letting him rest his head on his chest. Merlin let out a soft, shuddering sob, and Gwaine wrapped his arms around him and let him cry it out.

/

"When I was 16, I moved in with my uncle, Gaius- he's the Pendragon's personal physician, lives with them and everything- because my mom had gotten remarried and I hated her husband. They'd never even proved my dad was dead, and she just…moved on. I guess I supposed she'd always stay true to my dad, but he wasn't ever there, and it didn't matter in the end. So, I moved in with Gaius, changed my last name, and met Arthur. He used to be one heck of a prat, more so than now, but I guess I got him straightened out while we were at school. Beat some sense into his pretty head, you know. Anyway, when we got back after graduation we were just sitting around, talking, and then there was The Incident. I mentioned it before, and I forgot to thank you for not asking, but it's not pretty. What h-happened w-w-was- I'm not sure I can even talk about it, even now… No. I can do this. I can.

"When I first started at the school, I wasn't the most popular person. I was skinny, and geeky, and very, very nerdy- easy pickings for bullies. I was different, so I was picked on constantly. I wouldn't run to Arthur, I couldn't- I was ashamed of being so weak, just letting them attack me and never able to fight back. So I just hid the bruises, and went on with life, and wondered if Arthur would ever notice. Then…then things went from bad to worse. They started escalating, demanding worse things from me, horrible things- steal from the principal, go downtown and get their drugs for them, get test answers, and so on. I could have gone to the teachers, but…not after being forced to steal. I was the scholarship student, and they had parents who could influence people. Uther would have distanced himself from me if I made a scene, and would have ordered Arthur to do the same. So I started, very quietly, sneaking and stealing things back, replacing the drugs with fakes, and getting the test answers wrong.

"They found out. They cornered me in one of the bathrooms, started yelling and screaming about what I'd done and how they were going to make me pay for how I'd embarrassed them. I just took it, up until the part where someone grabbed me. I fought back then, and maybe I wasn't trained in any form of fighting, but I at least got a few hits in before someone got me with my face to the wall."

"And then?"

"…And then they made me do things to them, horrible things. I tried to get away, but they just kept beating on me. One of them had a knife, sliced my shoulder up pretty bad when I bit a little too hard."

Dead silence. A faint whimper of a cry, stifled.

"That night I just limped back to Arthur's room, didn't even try to get to my own, got inside, and slept underneath his bed. That was safe. That was home, for me, and even though the next morning the teachers found out and demanded I talk, I couldn't. Not after months of silence. I would open my mouth, and nothing would come out. Arthur was never allowed to know what had really happened- he just thought that someone had beat on me. He didn't see the bloodstains, just the bruises. I didn't go out of his room until I was sure he was gone for the day. I never told him about what happened, until after we had both graduated.

"Anyway…That was The Incident. We'd helped ourselves to a bit of Uther's collection of finer wines, and had just been chatting when things got back to that time in school. What had happened. And I finally broke down and told him everything, in one huge rush of emotion. About the older boys, and staying under his bed, and not telling anyone because I was afraid.

"I've never seen him angrier than that time. He went for a gun, swearing that he'd rip them apart. He was serious- I'd never seen him that angry, that pure rage just flowed out of him like lava. He would have killed him, I know it. I had to knock him out. I was terrified- I'd just knocked _Arthur_, the person who was the only reason I hadn't committed suicide during school, out cold. I panicked, ran, got what cash I had and fled. I spent the next two weeks sleeping in parks- it was summer, so it was warm enough- and buying what food I could from deli's and scrounging it from garbage's behind higher class restaurants. What with one thing and another, though, I ended up on the bad side of town, dead broke, and starving. I don't know why I didn't go to my mother, or even why I ran…I really don't. Anyway, I wandered around, ended up in the red light district, and this woman came up to me. We struck up a conversation about how life wasn't fair, yada yada, and this man comes up behind me and grabs me. The pulled me into an alley, and to this day I don't know what they were going to do, but wonder of wonders, a man showed up.

"He killed them. Two shots, dead before they hit the ground. He asked for my name, I told him, and he hauled me off to a warehouse. I thought he was going to kill me, especially when another man showed up and asked why he'd brought a kid here.

"Then he told me his name. Balinor. He was my father, the Dragonlord at the time, and I promptly started training with him and the Dragon to become the next one. Four weeks later, he went out to protect Uther when he spoke in public and was attacked. He dragged himself back- died in my arms.

"Four years later the Dragon and I had a massive fight. I returned to Arthur, the full-blooded Dragonlord. End of story."

/

Merlin sat limply at the table, watching with dull eyes as Gwaine scrambled eggs with the force of a bomb. It was barely 7:30, and he was already afraid that this was going to be a very long, difficult day. He'd considered calling in sick- he certainly still felt sick after all his confessions- but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. After he'd spilled his guts, he'd promised to make the fake Sokiyama file. The sooner that this was all over, the better.

There was a soft clink, and he glanced down to see a plate full of food.

"Eat," Gwaine ordered, sitting down with his own plate. "It's going to be a long day, and the last thing either of us needs is for you to collapse."

Merlin stared blankly at the plate, blinking a few times before slowly starting to eat. He knew, in some little, non-shell shocked section of his brain, that he shouldn't have eaten it, what with Gwaine more or less being the enemy. Oh…wait.

"Kilgarrah is going to beat me black and blue for this," he said mildly, poking at a bit of bacon.

"Kilgarrah's the Dragon, and the one who already beat you last night? I don't like that guy."

"He's not a very likeable man, unless he likes you." Merlin speared the bacon and nibbled on it. "And you're going to meet him one of these days. Just warning you. He'll probably try to kill you."

Gwaine stopped eating, staring at him for a minute, then began to grin. "You mean-"

Merlin glared. "I've got enough of an emotional attachment that I can't kill you. This means that you're stuck with me for the rest of your life, every waking and sleeping moment of it. You'll be watched by the Avalon group the minute you walk out of this door, by me when you're inside it, and by Kilgarrah when we're at his place."

Gwaine stopped smiling, looking thoughtful. "Merlin… did you just propose that we get married?"

Merlin dropped his fork.

/

"You know," Gwaine said conversationally as he threw the paper bag away, looking over to where Merlin lay prostrate on the couch, dull eyes gazing into some horrible introspective doom, "This could be good for both of us."

"How?" Merlin asked weakly.

Gwaine sat down on the couch, looking at Merlin with a soft smile, "Well, when you go running out into the night to go save the world, I'll be there, won't I? I'll be watching your back." He leaned in, hovering over Merlin's face for a moment before kissing him chastely. "I couldn't kill you when I didn't know who you were, I can't kill you now," he said softly as he pulled away, taking in Merlin's wide eyes. "And I'm tired of this mercenary thing. I went to school to get out of it, and ended up stuck in. I've got a good thing going with Arthur, I may as well stick around, right? And who else is going to patch you up when the Dragon beats you up?"

Merlin watched him with tired, exasperated eyes. "You still haven't given up this love thing, have you? You honestly think you could love me."

"Love lifts us up where we belong," he said softly. "Where eagles fly, on a mountain high."

"Love makes us act like we are fools," Merlin replied, smiling slightly. "Throw our lives away, for one happy day."

Gwaine smiled, leaning in to gently kiss his forehead. "We could be heroes," he whispered. "Just for one day."

Merlin smiled slightly, relaxing a little more into the couch. "You're an idiot, if you think that we could ever get married," he said softly. "People like me can't fall in love. It's in the rules somewhere, I'm pretty sure."

Gwaine snorted. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," he said firmly. "Now, up you get. We have work."

Merlin lay there, limp and staring into space. "Then what?"

Gwaine smiled slightly. "Then we get that file to The Boss, and get rid of the Other spy. And then we come back here and have dinner. And possibly fool around."

Merlin rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. "You're an idiot."

"But you love me?"

"Not yet, and more than likely not ever." Sitting up with a groan, he moved to leave but winced in pain.

"And I'd better fix up your back before you go anywhere, Mr. I'm-so-invincible," Gwaine said firmly. "Up you get."

/

Mordred had opened his mouth to begin his rant, but was stopped mid-step when Merlin ordered him to close the antechamber door from where he was frantically typing at his desk.

"What's going on in the world?" Merlin said absently, checking a green folder that was sitting beside him.

Dropping into the nearest seat and throwing the files on Merlin's desk, he raised a perfectly formed, inquisitive eyebrow. "That's a strange question, but okay. Elyan Nevere is considering quitting, Percival Schloss has struck up a really good friendship with Lance Allot, the janitors all just about had heart failure the other day when they found bloodstains on the floor and knife marks in the desks, and _apparently_ the security tapes from the other night have gone missing. Two of the female secretaries from floor 19 had a supremely charming tete-a-tete the other day in the janitorial closet, resulting in scratches and a small cat fight. Oh, and there's a pool on when and where you and Gwaine will do it at work."

Merlin's fingers twitched in their work. "Since when do you call him Gwaine?"

Mordred smirked, settling himself deeper in the chair. "Wouldn't you like to-"

A pencil flew towards him, sharpened to a razor tip. Mordred caught it between two fingers an inch from his eye.

"Alright, alright! Jeez, calm down," Mordred drawled, flicking the pencil back to the desk. "I swear you're going to be the death of me. I call him Gwaine because he told me too. In case you haven't noticed, I'm the only page who takes things to him because he's in my set of deliveries, alright? Happy?"

Merlin glowered at him. "I wouldn't say that," he grumbled, returning to the frantic typing. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. What's up with you?"

Merlin paused in his typing, glancing over at him before returning to his work. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Yeah _right_, you're never this busy during the day. Mostly you're organizing files and bothering Arthur. What's up?" Mordred craned his head to look at the fire. "The Sokiyama file?"

Merlin nodded grimly, fingers clacking over the keys in a blur of motion. "With all the issues we've had lately, I'm making a set of fakes. Hopefully that will make them a little more safe to have around here."

Mordred smiled, showing razor blade teeth. "Very good." Checking his fingernails, he said absently, "So, have you heard from Freya lately?"

Merlin paused, looking over at him suspiciously, eyes warily narrowed. "Mordred, is something going on?"

Mordred held up his hands in a sign of surrender, going back to his seat by the desk. "I'm out of the Avalon's, I promise. I haven't round-housed anyone in a year, maybe more. I'm out, I'm clean, I swear. But I miss Nimue and Freya, and I just want to talk to them. Freya's like my sister- you know, the one that ruffles your hair and then throws you into the wall."

Merlin sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I haven't seen them lately," he admitted quietly. "Something went down on the outskirts that they've been trying to clean up, and Nimue's had something come up with an ex of hers. I think his name was Gedref or something, I don't even know. Freya's got another hearing coming up soon, so you could probably go see her soon."

The door to Arthur's office flew open. "Merlin!"

Merlin didn't even look up, going back to his typing as Mordred made himself busy with a set of files rather hurriedly. "Yes, Arthur."

"Do I have a meeting at four this afternoon?" He looked a little frantic.

"Yes- main counsel stuff, nothing important. Just bookkeeping and looking over the funds." Merlin finally turned around to look at his friend. "Why?"

Arthur had the decency to look embarrassed before saying, very, _very _quietly, "Morgana and Morgause are in town for the next few days. I thought I'd slip out and see them."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Just because Morgana was disowned doesn't mean that _you_ have to disown her," he pointed out just as quietly while Mordred pretended to be fascinated with the contents in the stock reports.

Arthur nodded, looking slightly grim. "I know. What do I have going on tomorrow?"

"You're free after 4 tomorrow."

Arthur grinned. "Thanks, Merlin." He pulled his head back in, only to pause. "By the way, Gaius wants to meet Gwaine. He wants to give him _the talk_."

Merlin gaped, and grabbed another pen to throw at his boss. Arthur smirked and darted back into his office, closing the door quickly behind him. Mordred dropped the folder and grinned like an idiot at Merlin, who looked extremely disgruntled. "Really? You haven't told him yet?"

"No, I haven't. Long story, involving complicated adult things. Now shut up and go do something, will you?"

Mordred smirked, picking up his files and sashaying out the door with a wink. "You just want me to go _do_ something?"

Merlin shook his head and waved him away to continue the frantic typing.

/

About 11 o' clock, a steady stream of pages having been in and out of the antechamber all day, Merlin was running on autopilot and held out a folder when he heard someone walk in, chicken-peck typing with one hand as he did so. "This goes to the International group up in 37."

"Sorry, I'm not one of your lackeys."

Merlin glanced over to see Kilgarrah in the door, with the wide eyed Dorocha beside him, eyes wide and curious from where they could be seen under the green beanie that had been shoved on his head. Kilgarrah was dressed in silver Armani with creases so sharp it could have been considered a deadly weapon, a thin chain with a delicately wrought Chinese dragon pendant hanging from it, and a Rolex worth more than Merlin's income in five years. The Dorocha, in stark contrast, had been shoved into a white t-shirt, a battered green military styled jacket that had once been Merlin's, and jeans that looked like they'd had a few owners, but were comfortably worn in.

Merlin stared.

Kilgarrah looked at his watch. "It is eleven. I believe your lunch break is now?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"We are having lunch."

"…We are?"

"Yes. Christian will be joining us."

"…Who's Christian?"

/

Merlin maneuvered the chopsticks daintily through the noodles, hunting for the piece of meat that was eluding him in the sea that was the pho's broth. The restaurant was small and packed, a Laotian place that Kilgarrah adored, and was adored in. The fact that the pale man spoke the language fluently and flattered the petite female owner constantly ensured that they always had the best seat, in a secluded corner where they could look out and watch both the windows and the restaurant.

Christian turned out to be the Dorocha. Kilgarrah had read through about a hundred names before he'd properly responded to one, and it had stuck, hopefully his real name. He had an intense fascination with chopsticks and couldn't use them. Kilgarrah, being surprisingly patient, had let his hair loose and wrapped the elastic that had been holding it back around the end to help him use them. Merlin had been no end of shocked to find out that the Dragon had taken the young man under his overprotective wings and intended to let him stay as long as he liked. Something about the thin man had struck a chord with the Dragon, and while Merlin wasn't complaining, he _was_ wondering how this would affect the familial dynamic that they shared.

Christian still couldn't talk, but he very shyly picked up a roll and handed it to Merlin. Oddly touched, he'd taken it with a bit of surprise and a glance at Kilgarrah, who was smiling affectionately at the both of them.

Not for the first time, Merlin wondered how Kilgarrah really felt about not having a child. He'd been married, he knew, to a young woman named Morrigan whose picture still hung in his room, but they had never had children and Morrigan had died young. Kilgarrah had never remarried, and from what he'd learned had never shown any interest in ever finding another "mate", as he had so delicately put it once. Dragons and their Lords tended to be brooding, pain filled creatures who rarely showed affection or even married, but as they sat there in the small, hot restaurant, Merlin was struck but how very _lonely_ he must be.

They made small talk, nothing to implicate that they were anything more than what they always were in the restaurant, an indulgent uncle and a favorite nephew out for lunch. Christian dozed off with his head against the window, a contented smile on his face.

Finally talk dwindled away, and Merlin took a deep breath.

"'Garrah?"

"Yes?" The Dragon looked up from where he'd been expertly corning the last cowering noodles in his bowl.

"What do you think about love?"

There. He'd said it.

The Dragon stared at him for a long moment, and slowly set down his chopsticks. Heart pounding, Merlin watched as he lifted up a napkin and delicately wiped his face.

"A serious question. What brings it up?"

He should have known this was going to happen. Looking down he said quietly, "I've met someone, 'Garrah. I let them into my life, only to find out that they weren't exactly what they said they were…and I can't, ah, _dump_ them, nor do I want too. They say that they think that they could fall in love with me. And… the horrible thing is that I almost _want_ them too, not that I'll ever admit it to them."

Silence met his words. He began twisting his napkin nervously in his hands.

"Merlin," Kilgarrah said, and Merlin looked up in surprise. Kilgarrah's voice was hoarse, and his eyes were brighter than normal. "Love is dangerous for people like us, you know that."

His heart sank, and he nodded slightly.

"Do you think that this person is serious?"

"Possibly," he mumbled.

Kilgarrah looked down at the table, absently tracing the whorls in the wood. "Do you think that you could learn to love them?" There was a trace of hope in that voice, and Merlin felt his throat close up.

"I think I could."

Kilgarrah inclined his head, still not looking up. "Love is a magnificent thing, Merlin. It can free and cage you, hold your heart in a tenuous grasp and never let go, even when you fall out of it. It is a wonderful feeling, being in love. Having a mate with you is good as well- that trust, the ability to talk to someone who won't hurt you, just listen to you, that is the most wonderful of gifts. In all honesty I think that you should have found a mate already- you've gone through a lot of things that Balinor never had too. Your father…" His voice broke slightly. He cleared his throat. "Your father loved your mother dearly, but after all the things that happened with Uther shortly after you were born, he had to flee to keep you alive. It tore him apart, being away from her, and when he heard about her marriage it broke him. I know you aren't, ah…"

"Attracted to women?" Merlin said dryly. Kilgarrah, old as he was, didn't mind what gender he wanted to sleep with, but hated discussing it openly.

"Yes," the Dragon muttered, flushing slightly. "But all the same, I want to see you happy. You aren't likely to have the same problem as your father, as Arthur seems much more level headed than his pig-headed father. I…I am aware that I haven't been the best of teachers to come from my line, and I'm hardly the best person to talk to about relationships, but I firmly believe that you should have a mate. You're old enough, and there's no guarantee that Gaius and I will be around much longer. You need someone to trust and lean on, whichever gender that may be. Both of our lines end with us, after all."

"'Garrah…"

"Hush. I just wanted to say that, provided that he is proper and cares for you, I have no problems. Well, I have a problem with the fact that he is one of the enemy, but I suppose we can work through that. You _will_ be attending Sunday dinner though. Gaius contacted me the other day, and you know how much he hates to even admit that I'm alive. We _will_ be having family dinner, and you will bring this person for my inspection. You understand?"

Translation: I'm going to grill this person until he's scared to so much as look at you wrong.

Merlin reached out and took Kilgarrah's hand. "Don't hurt him. Please. Words only."

Kilgarrah nodded. "Very well."

Christian shifted, making them both look over at him. Opening his eyes, he looked at them blearily before singing softly, "_The greatest gift, you'll ever learn, is just to love and to be loved, in return_."

The two stared at him in shock.

"He spoke! ...Well, sang, but…"

/

When Merlin returned to his office, he was unsurprised to find Gwaine lounging in the chair across from his desk.

"You need something?" he asked mildly, dropping into his chair and pulling up the fake files to continue to work on them.

"Need, not especially. Want, yes."

Raising an eyebrow, he glanced over to see the positively lecherous grin on the man's face. Going pink, he glared. "You know that they've already got a pool going on us?"

Gwaine smiled mistily. "Oh, I know all right. I've put money in."

Merlin gaped at him, spluttering in astonishment. "_What_?"

"Oh yes. Arthur's desk. Two weeks. It'll happen, believe you me."

"The _hell_ it will, you ass!"

Mordred, of course, took this moment in time to enter the antechamber with Remington and Sanchez. The trio looked amused.

"Want to repeat that a little louder, boss? I don't think Mr. Pendragon heard you on the 34th floor," Sanchez drawled. He was a small, stocky young man with vibrant blue eyes and dark brown hair that looked like waves. Remington, almost totally his opposite (tall, thin, with straight blonde hair and dark eyes) smirked as well, handing over some of the files.

"I hate you all," Merlin informed them, cheeks flushed with crimson embarrassment.

They all laughed, switched out the folders and took off, Mordred pausing to murmur something in Gwaine's ear that made the older man grin.

"What was that about?" Merlin asked suspiciously. Gwaine grinned, standing up slowly and leisurely walking around the desk.

"Nothing much," he said mischievously as Merlin's eyes widened and he rolled backwards in his chair. "Just that Arthur's due back in five minutes."

"And?" Merlin asked warily as Gwaine advanced, smirking. He'd ended up against the edge of the desk, unable to move.

"And nothing."

Gwaine pounced, catching Merlin's chin and pulling him up for a positively searing kiss that left his head spinning.

"Ta, love," he smirked, and was gone.

Merlin stared after him, bright pink, fingers very lightly touching his lips.

/

"Mr. Emrys?"

Merlin looked up, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the more natural light instead of the harsh, bright monitor of the computer. "Hmm?"

The slender man smiled at him, delicate facial features unnerving him momentarily. The man was unnaturally pale and serene looking, with curly blonde hair reminiscent of a slightly ginger angel, despite being in the janitor's uniform.

Merlin relaxed. Slightly. Maybe only mentally. "Ah. Edwin. Hello."

Edwin smiled beatifically, fingers laced neatly in front of his stomach. "Hello, Mr. Emrys. Do you need anything? I was just headed around these floors, and I thought I'd check up on your needs."

_And that doesn't worry me at _all, _oh no_.

Edwin had flirted with him on and off through the years, always trying to get him closer but only succeeding in pushing him away. There was something slightly off about the man that unsettled him, and years of working with him hadn't changed that. He'd recently had reconstructive surgery to restore half of his face, which had been ruined in a gas explosion in his building.

"Thanks, but there's nothing in particular I need."

Edwin smiled and left, leaving Merlin watching him curiously, a hint of wariness lurking behind the polite, happy façade he wore.

The file sat open at his elbow.

/


	8. Hurricane

**I don't own Merlin. **

**Hurricane is by 30 Seconds to Mars.**

/

The green file folder slapped down heavily onto Gwaine's desk, landing firmly on top of the closed laptop and narrowly missing the shoes that were propped up on it.

"Done, and I expect you in the lobby at five sharp if you even want to think about being alive at 5:01. I have men to see about dogs, and I do _not _necessarily need to babysit you. That's Freya's job from here on out."

Gwaine dragged his eyes open, grinning rather sleepily as Merlin turned to leave. "What? No kiss goodbye?"

Merlin's only reply was to raise a stiff middle finger as his coat tails flicked around the door. Gwaine chuckled, smiling as he picked up the fake Sokiyama file and thumbed through it, whistling "God Save the Queen" under his breath. It looked as professional as the real one, complete with pictures, shorthand notes in the margins, and a slightly dog-eared look as if people had been flipping through it. Sighing happily, he picked up the burner phone and called The Boss.

"_Yes?_"

"I have the file," he said softly, running a finger down the edge of it and swiveling in his chair to look out the window at the skyline. It was a surprisingly clear day, and the sunlight sparkled on the windows of the skyscrapers.

"_I try to kill you, multiple times at that, and still you go to the trouble of getting it for me. You are truly a remarkable creature, Mr. Noble."_

Gwaine chuckled humorlessly, picking up a pair of binoculars and holding them to his eyes. He'd spotted a bird nesting on one of the neighboring buildings, and it was building a rather elaborate nest. At the moment it was out. "So they tell me," he said wryly, setting the binoculars back down. "So, when's a good time for you? I'll deliver it-"

"_Don't bother,_" The Boss interrupted calmly, "_I'll have one of my people come and get it. Keep it with you."_

And that was it. There was a very definite click on the end of the line, and Gwaine stared in mild horror at the phone before setting in back in his pocket. He stared out the window for another few minutes, and then spun back around to face the file. It sat innocently on the desk.

Standing up with considerable calm, he walked out of his office and swung onto Gwen's desk, file in hand. "Keep track of that, I have to go track down Mr. Emrys. We may just have an emergency on our hands."

"We've got a meeting that he'll be at in ten minutes," she said dryly, taking the file and setting it on the desk.

"…We do?"

"We do."

/

Edwin sucked on the end of his cigarette like he had a personal vendetta against it, exhaling with the same force and watching dispassionately as the smoke drifted across the rooftop to dissipate over the helipad. The phone in his pocket chirped briefly, and he sighed, squinting into the horizon.

"There goes my afternoon," he told the helipad in disgust. "I had plans, you know. Good ones. They mostly involved catching up on my sleep before I went and hunted down Mr. Noble and disemboweled him, but they were good." He sighed, took another drag, and dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his heel. Pulling out the phone, he accepted the call.

"Edwin."

"_I need you to help with a little something that'll be going down today."_

He rolled his eyes, and resisted the urge to sigh loudly. "When?"

"_I imagine any second._"

Right on cue, a helicopter rose over the building, jet black, and Edwin swore loudly, diving off the helipad and across the roof to the access door. "What the-"

The helicopter landed, and the door opened to reveal 10 very dangerous looking men in suits. The group clambered out, and the copter killed its engines

"You put hit-men in suits," he deadpanned, staring in dull shock as they approached him. One of the coats fluttered, revealing a holster. "And gave them _guns_? Raising the stakes a bit, aren't you? Why not let them just punch, kick and otherwise maul people?"

"_Stop your whining. 8 of them are yours. You'll secure everything from the 34__th__ floor up, and my other- shall we say friend?- will go and fetch my information. He's on his way up to collect the other two to subdue the people in his way. Oh, and he leaves in the copter. Capice, my dear?"_

"I'm not your dear," Edwin snapped as the group approached. "And yes, I've got it. In the event that you friend doesn't make it out, then what?"

"_Take the information and the chopper._"

"And the hit-men?"

The ten were close enough that he could see the cold, uncaring eyes now.

"_If they're too slow, kill them._"

The access door opened, and Edwin turned to see The Boss's friend. He smirked, placing the burner back in his pocket.

"You know," he drawled, "Of all the men I thought I'd see here, you weren't the one I ever dreamed of."

/

As they headed to the meeting, Merlin and Arthur were in the middle of what Merlin was calling a discussion, and Arthur was calling an argument, when someone grabbed Merlin's arm and yanked him off into one of the side halls.

Gwaine ducked as a fist swung at his face, catching his wrist and pushing him up against the wall. "Hello, darling, nice to see you too. We have a situation."

Merlin snarled, eyes snapping. "A bit of warning would be nice," he hissed, nose to nose.

"MERLIN!" Arthur stormed back around the corner, and the two looked over at him. The blonde paused, very visibly swallowed a smirk and said, "I'll just wait for you two to conclude your business, shall I?"

Gwaine smiled charmingly, warningly tightening his grip on Merlin's wrist. "That'd be very useful of you, thank you." Merlin glowered at him, but nodded to Arthur, who released the smirk and stepped off to join Gwen, who'd been on her way to the elevator on Gwaine's orders. The woman was surprised, and Arthur smiled charmingly, pushing the button.

"Well, this is nice," Gwaine said softly, turning back to Merlin, who glared. "The two of us, all alone and worked up-"

"You said we had a situation," Merlin interrupted shortly, arching an eyebrow.

Gwaine nodded, all traces of joking gone. He let go of the wrist he'd been holding captive, and Merlin leaned casually against the wall as he stepped back. For all the world passing by, they were simply two people chatting. "The Boss is sending someone to fetch the file."

Merlin's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Sending someone?"

"Yes, and he said it would be soon. I'm a shade worried."

Merlin nodded absently, and Gwaine could see the gears twitching and whirring in his mind. "O-kay…" he said finally, slowly, "I'll get the pages assembled and armed-"

"Armed?"

"Yes, armed. All of them are ex-military. Remington's a US Marine, Sanchez is SAS, Raidenovitch's father was KGB and taught him everything he knew, and don't even get me started on what Mordred's capable of." Merlin pulled out his phone and dialed. Someone picked up, apparently, because he began talking in a low voice. "Yes- everyone needs to suit up and move to positions. I don't know how soon. Keep in contact. Remington will lead the first group; Sanchez will take the second, and Springfield the third. Send Mordred to the meeting with me, and tell Raidenovitch to get to the control room."

Gwaine watched curiously as the phone was tucked away. "So, besides being Arthur's secretary, you're also head of security?"

"Close enough. Let's go."

/

The meeting took place on the 18th floor, in a small conference room with no windows, and one door. It was one of the older rooms, dull beige and even duller designs. It was cramped, even with the precious few people inside. Uther sat at the head of the table, leaving Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine, Gwen, the heads of accounting and International Business and their secretaries to fill in the remaining seats. Mordred stood behind Merlin, looking as demure as he ever could, and Gwaine sat across from him, Gwen on his left with the fake Sokiyama folder sitting in front of her.

The meeting stared at 4:00 sharp, boring and bland as normal, the secretaries taking dutiful notes and the heads looking dutifully attentive to Uther, who apparently didn't notice that everyone was about as bored as humanly possible.

At 4:03, things got interesting.

/

At 3:58, Edwin passed the group of somber looking pages exiting the stairs, smiled politely, and entered the elevator on the 38th floor with the suits in tow. As soon as the door closed, the suits all looked at him, and his smile dropped. "Wait on the 36th floor. Loiter. The Boss's little friend will come up that way, you escort them out. I'll be on the 34th acting as backup."

The suits nodded, and the elevator dinged at the 36th. Four of the suits got out, leaving four of them with Edwin. The four looked at him, faces deliberately blanked out, and Edwin sighed, shaking his head.

_I have _got_ to get out of this line of work. Too many suits._

The door opened to reveal a group of people in suits standing together and arguing. Among them were Elyan Nevere and Percival Schloss.

He sighed, and exited.

_Way too many suits_.

/

At 4:03 in the meeting room, the door opened, and Lance Allot walked in, flanked by two men in suits. Uther paused mid-word and stared at the man, who smiled charmingly, pulled out a gun, and said calmly, "Ms. Nevere, if you would pick up that file and follow me, please?"

The two suits shifted slightly, pulling out their own guns and training them at the table. Merlin tensed as the secretaries screamed, and the heads fell out of their chairs sobbing in terror.

Lance looked around, smiling at those left at the table- Arthur, Gwaine, Gwen, Merlin, and Uther, with Mordred still standing stiff as a board. "My…made of stronger stuff, are we?" He chuckled. "Very nice. Well, Ms. Nevere, you and I are going to go for a little walk. The file, if you please?"

Gwen stood up slowly, the file in a shaking hand, and walked over to him, back rigid with terror. Lance smiled softly at her, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun away. "Thank you," he said pleasantly. "And may I just say how nice you look today. I've been watching you for a while, you know." She swallowed hard, and his smile broadened. "I think you'll like the Cayman's, Ms. Nevere. Shall we?"

He turned, putting a hand at her elbow, and made to leave, only to pause at the doorway. "Oh yes… Mordred." Mordred turned and gave him a polite stare. Lance beckoned, and he stiffly approached. Lance smiled. "Mordred here will be acting as my safe guard. Any of you try to leave…"

One of the suits grabbed him and pulled him in, jamming his gun in Mordred's ribs. The other nodded, and Lance smiled. "Right, well… I must get going." The other suit holstered his gun and followed them out the door, leaving them with the other suit.

Uther sat rigid in his chair, staring at the hostage. Arthur was clearly boiling, fists clenched tight. Merlin sat relaxed, eyes trained on Mordred, who seemed more annoyed than anything. Gwaine was smiling.

The gunman stared at them, clearly confused.

"Mordred," Merlin said softly, and the page looked at him, locking eyes. Merlin smiled with a mouth like razor blades and said, very calmly, "Tāmen dōu shā guāng." _Kill them all_.

Mordred's grin went feral.

/

When asked later about how he escaped, Uther's official statement, written by Gwaine himself, read that the bravery of a young man who knew a great deal of martial arts was to be thanked. The young man was never named.

It was, in fact, two young men who knew a great deal of martial arts, and had no qualms about using them.

/

Elbow up, jam nose. As man screams, grab wrist, twist it, bend fingers so the gun is released, break them. Turn, stomp on instep. Move back as the Dragonlord, who is not your friend/boss named Merlin right now, slides across the table and slams into your captor, shattering four ribs. As he slides off, grab wrist with broken fingers, twist behind back, break elbow. Bone pierces through skin and _gods what a scream._

Blood _everywhere_ and _ye gods_ it's been such a long time.

Feel it on your hands.

Relish it.

Shudder of desire, and unstifled moan.

Dragonlord- in face, in territory _this is my kill, you can't have him!- _grab, kiss hard, and remember that taste. _Wayyy to long since then._

"Wanna play?"

Dragonlord gasping for air when released, shakes head. "All yours. Go get him. Make sure Ms. Nevere is safe. And don't kill him, I want him alive to testify."

Shrug. _We'll see._

I just wanna play…

/

Merlin recoiled as Mordred darted out the door, giggling like a madman. Grabbing the gun off the floor, he tossed it to Arthur, who was already up and moving with Gwaine to get the thankfully unconscious man out of the way.

"C'mon. We'd better hurry if we want him alive- the way Mordred is right now, he might kill him even if I told him not to." Grimacing, he reached up with his tie and wiped off his face from where Mordred's bloody hands had grabbed him. "Blast the boy," he muttered. "He hasn't been like this in years."

Arthur snorted, and the trio started out the door to see the wreckage lining the hallways. A wide eyed secretary pointed a shaking finger down the hall. Merlin smiled charmingly. "Thanks muchly."

/

Gwen tried not to shiver as they passed each floor, the lights flicking past.

_Why isn't anyone getting on? _She thought frantically, clutching the file tightly, Lance's hand still firmly holding her arm. _The one day that no one needs the elevator…_

/

Raidenovitch was somehow unsurprised to find the man in the control room very, very dead. He didn't know how it had happened, and he wasn't questioning it- at the moment, he was more concerned with getting control of the building. Sitting down in the control seat after unceremoniously removing the body, he scanned cameras with eyes trained for just such work. He found his boss, Arthur Pendragon, and the flamboyant PR guy in the stairs at the 24th floor and gaining. As he watched, Merlin pulled out his phone, and he picked up his.

"Da?"

"_Stop the elevator!"_

He glanced at the elevator readouts, and the assorted buttons, running over their purposes in his mind. "Can't, sir. Kill switch is restricted to one person, and he's now wery, wery dead."

Merlin swore. "Destination?"

"Seems to be Floor 34 at the moment, sir."

Merlin swore again. "Where's Mordred?"

Raidenovitch stared at the screens, mind going deliberately blank as he took in the endless information. When he found it, his eyes went wide. "How…"

"_Where_ Raidenovitch!"

"Sir…He's on the 35th floor already and Percival Schloss and Elyan Nevere just finished a wery nasty fight!"

The phone went dead.

/

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gwen's throat felt tight as Lance led her out, and they were met by the janitor, who nodded briskly at them and began walking toward the stairs meaningfully. Lance nodded, and they followed him. A set of men in suits joined them, so there were now five suited men following as well.

As they rounded a corner, the janitor hissed, "One of the pages went AWOL and attacked the group of we had down there. A couple of others joined it- Black guy with a damn crowbar he pulled out of _nowhere_, and a blonde grabbed one of the guns and dispatched them quick. I got out, but he's probably on our trail."

There was a scream behind them, and a high pitched laugh.

"Speak of the devil," the janitor muttered, yanking the file from Gwen's hands and dashing off.

"What- Hey!" Lance roared.

The janitor yelled behind him, "Keep up or die!"

Lance swore, and as Gwen moved to pull away he swept her feet from under her, carrying her bridal style. "I haven't watched you for two years to let you go now," he snarled, and she gasped in terror as he took off. Glancing back at the suits, he ordered, "Take him _down_."

/

Elyan Nevere was not having a good day.

It had started out decent enough- work on the files, avoid the boss, smile through your teeth, cow-tow to whoever walks by, scan this, copy that, make it a double would you, and so on. Just your average day in the office as an average Joe slaving for wages. He knew that there were millions of people who would kill to have a job, period, but it was really hard not to feel a little resentful that he was working for the man who'd killed his father. Gwen was too, of course, but she had a good boss by all accounts, and she liked the work. Something had sent him up to the 34th floor, files in hand, and then his day got a tiny bit better.

Percival had happened to be there at the same time. The two of them got on very well- living in the same building, drinking in the same pub-like bar, spending time together because neither of them had significant others tended to do that to people. Elyan was allowed to rant, Percival listening, and then would just sit and relax and take in the other man's silence. They worked well together.

They worked really well together, he managed to think, when they were fighting. He didn't know where the crowbar had come from, or where Percival had gotten the gun, but they moved together, beating and shooting the suited killers with seamless, flawless ease.

It shouldn't feel right.

But he had to admit it felt _amazing_ to finally let out some of the stress and fury that had been following him every step he'd taken since his father's death. With every blow, stress slipped away, and with every blood fleck that splashed the carpet and walls a bit of him loosened, relaxing and becoming calm and comfortable.

As the last body fell to a brutal blow and a neat shot to the shoulder, Elyan straightened, panting, to turn and look at the German. His body stilled, and he swallowed hard at what he saw.

Percival's eyes were dilated and focused on him with such raw lust it pinned him to the wall. The crowbar slipped from his hand as Percival, eyes still on him, stripped the gun apart and tossed it on a desk and headed straight for him.

One final thought managed to slip through his brain before Percival pulled him in and kissed him so hard stars exploded behind his eyes.

_This day just got a whole lot better._

/

Arthur was the first to reach the 36th floor, Gwaine behind him, Merlin bringing up the rear and trying to get connected to the pages who had headed to the roof. Bursting in, they rushed around the corner, only to freeze when they saw the carnage on the floor.

Five bodies, eyes wide, necks snapped, broken bones sticking out at angles, a puddle of blood covering the hall.

Merlin surveyed it coldly, and Gwaine just shook his head. Battle hardened, both had seen their fair share of such things.

Arthur was promptly sick in the nearest available potted plant.

Footprints, bare by now, led to the staircase. Mordred's shoes and socks sat limply at the side of the hall where they'd been kicked off.

"I hate stairs," Merlin griped, then paused. "Oh."

/

The elevator dinged at the 38th floor, and the three burst out, Arthur having recovered and now seriously pissed. Guns drawn, they rushed to the roof access, jumping over the unconscious bodies of the pages who'd been sent to guard. There was no time to check for vital signs, no time to pause, just getting to the damsel who was very, very distressed.

Bloody footsteps led all the way up, light and becoming lighter.

When they pushed open the door to the roof, it was to reveal a fully fledged fight to the death, Edwin with the file and jumping into the chopper, and Gwen lying with a head wound, unconscious.

Merlin immediately took stock of the situation. "Don't move toward Mordred. That's his fight, and he'll be attack you if he thinks you're moving in on his kill." A scream from Lance reassured the other two he was serious, and Mordred screamed his triumph as the man thudded dully to the ground, his arm at an unnatural angle and his foot strangely misshapen. "Really, let me handle him."

"I'll get her," Arthur said immediately, and as the chopper took off Merlin nodded, looking up at the glass.

Edwin smiled smugly down at him, and waved briefly before the chopper banked and headed away over the city. He sighed, holstering his gun.

_Of course. I can't have a normal relationship with a person, can I?_

Gwaine touched his shoulder. "I'll go check on the pages. You'll get Mordred?"

Merlin nodded, reaching up to briefly grasp the fingers resting there and then nodded. "Go."

Gwaine turned and ran back down the stairs. Mordred, who'd gone over to the whimpering Lancelot and was now humming as he painted the man's face with his own blood, taken from a series of very nasty scratches running across a torn and bloody chest, looked up sharply to look at Merlin, only to flick his eyes to Arthur, who'd scooped up Gwen and was tenderly pushing the hair away from the cut.

Merlin took a step closer to Mordred, and the man growled, eyes snapping back to focus on him. He sighed, pulling out his phone and dialing. Mordred returned his attention to Lance, who was quaking in terror, and resumed painting his face with blood.

"Hey, Freya? Yeah, we've got a bit of a situation…"

/

In the aftermath, there were surprisingly few problems. Thankfully, the pages had simply been knocked out, and only 4 had concussions (Remington and Sanchez, curiously enough, hooked up shortly afterwards). The 10 suits that had been dispatched were all identified as hired killers, but no one was able (or willing) to try and fight through the mass of rumors and myths that surrounded the Boss to try and get at him. The man who'd been in the camera room had been given a proper burial and wake, and his widow was ensured money for the remainder of her life. Lance Allot was charged with intent to kidnap, conspiracy, and various other things that no one cared about, and Uther paid off the judge to sentence him fast. Edwin disappeared into the vast and treacherous underground.

But that all happened later.

/

"MERLIN EMRYS, YOUR ASS IS MINE."

Gwaine glanced up from where he'd been working on a frantic release to the press. He and Merlin had slumped up against a wall on the 36th floor, exhausted and watching as Arthur and Gwen tenderly examined each other. The two had already become madly smitten, and if he hadn't been so tired, Gwaine would have found it funny. "Funny," he muttered, "I could have sworn it belonged to me." Merlin elbowed him, hard, and he groaned. "Domestic abuse, domestic abuse."

A woman was storming towards them, dressed in a red shirt and black jeans, a gun on her hip and fire in her eyes. Merlin sighed, groaning as he pulled himself upright, using Gwaine's shoulder as a lever. "Hello Freya."

The woman punched him, and Gwaine did the closest thing to a surge to his feet that he could manage, only to be gently pushed back down as Merlin smiled tiredly. Freya glared at him, hands on hips.

"_What_ were you thinking, flipping the kill phrase on him?"

"Well," Merlin drawled, "I was mostly thinking that I had a weapon and intended to use it before someone got killed."

"In the process, ten were."

"Did you know them?"

"No."

"Then they deserved it."

"Ass."

"Bite me."

"Been there, done that, moved on to better and sexier pastures."

Gwaine stared at them, dumbfounded, head going back and forth between the two like it was a tennis match.

"How is Nimue?"

"Lovely, as ever, and not getting herself killed, _or_ her charge killed!"

"Look, he was available, he was willing, and you know it does him some good to let loose."

"Then teach him dancing!"

"This isn't Broadway, dear."

"No, but it _is _a major companies headquarters. What if someone looks into his past?"

"I've told you a thousand times, I took _care _of it. Well, 'Garrah did."

"What about the man from Bangkok?"

"The man from- Oh, hells bells Freya, he's so gone from the opium I don't know if he knows his own name any more."

"_There's still a chance-_"

Gwaine had had enough. "_Hold everything_."

The two looked down at him, surprised. He scrambled to his feet, eyebrows furrowed. "Let me see if I've got this straight."

"Given that you're gay, I rather doubt it."

Merlin stepped on her foot.

"Ow!"

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "You two were together." They nodded. "But she figured out she was a lesbian and broke up with you." They nodded. "And met some chick named Nimue, and Mordred, somehow, along the way." They nodded, with an added glare from Freya. "And Merlin is Mordred's…what, guardian?"

"I was, for a time," Merlin said quietly, looking almost embarrassed.

"Right…So Mordred's got a psycho side, apparently has illegal ties, knows kung fu and some guy from Bangkok apparently knows all of this. Oh, and the Dragon does too. What am I missing?"

Freya crossed her arms. "Just that Mordred grew up in a Shanghai whore-house and got stuck with another guy who knew Kung Fu, and after long and dangerous circumstances ended up staying with Merlin and the Dragon in their summer home."

Gwaine considered this, then looked at Merlin, who was looking a bit uncomfortable. "The Dragon has a summer home in Shanghai?"

"And dual citizenship."

"…He's _Chinese? _ I heard he was Welsh!"

"Long story, and he's definitely not Welsh." Merlin sighed, and almost unconsciously reached out. Gwaine immediately took his hand, smoothing his thumb over the back. "Look, Freya, I'm sorry. Please, just take him home, get him situated. Oh, and we've got dinner at 'Garrah's on Sunday, 7 o' clock. Alright?"

The woman glowered long and hard at him before nodding. "I've got him shut down. I think he's going into his calm mode- either that or he's gearing up for a sex-fest, whichever works."

Merlin smiled faintly, and leaned into Gwaine's shoulder. The other man stabilized him looking at him with concern. "Thanks, love. See you Sunday."

She nodded, smiling a bit at Gwaine. "Good. Ta, y'all."

She turned and left, leaving Gwaine staring blankly at her retreating form. "Y'all?" He echoed wryly. He sighed, chuckling slightly and leaning in to lightly kiss the top of Merlin's head. "Please tell me that she doesn't _actually_ own your ass too, by the way. I really want to be the one owning that."

Merlin chuckled weakly. "C'mon, _darling_…let's go home."

They left with Arthur and Gwen still staring entranced at each other.

/

The shower poured down hot, almost scalding water, and Merlin went limp, leaning against the wall and just let it beat down on him. As the water swirled down the drain, he wondered vaguely whether or not people would ever know just how _long_ and hard it took to recover from things like this.

The door slid open, and he looked up weakly to stare at Gwaine, who slipped in and closed the door behind him.

"Gwai-"

A soft, mind-blowingly warm kiss completely closed any train of coherent words that had been lined up to escape from his vocal chords, and Merlin let himself be crowded up against the shower wall and _worshipped_. He sighed happily, letting Gwaine devour his neck.

"After this," the man murmured between laving kisses and sucking water off his neck, "We are going into the bedroom, you are lying down, and I am going to work every kink out of that back of yours."

Merlin reached up to grip his back. "Can we just have sex instead?"

Gwaine paused, and then smiled, eyes lighting softly and he reached up, stroking Merlin's face gently. "That works too…but I think we're going to be lucky to not fall asleep the second we hit the bed." Merlin snorted, only to gasp when he felt Gwaine's hands wandering.

"But, you know, we don't have to get to the bed."

/

Nearly an hour later, Merlin let himself be carried to bed, boneless and deliciously relaxed. Gwaine slid in next to him, curling around him, and Merlin relaxed against him.

"So, does this mean you trust me?"

"Close enough to count."

"Mm…"

"…I love you."

"…You know, I do believe I could learn to love you too."

Silence fell and Gwaine sighed, snaking his arms around the thin man. "Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"…Will we go after the Boss?"

There was a soft sigh.

"We'll talk about it in the morning."

Gwaine made a noise of approval and squeezed him gently. "Sweet dreams."

"They're made of this."

For a beat the room was silent, and then the two burst into chuckles.

/


	9. The Gambler

I don't own Merlin.

The Gambler is by fun.

/

_Riiiing._

_Riiiiiing._

_RIIIIIIING._

Merlin's hand fumbled for the phone angrily ringing beside the bed. Gwaine groaned, rolling over to glare at the clock with bleary eyes. 5 AM.

"If that's anything but an emergency, I'm going to kill whoever called," he growled, rolling back over and watching as Merlin put the phone to his ear before closing his eyes again and wrapping his arms around the man's stomach. It was too early for this, he thought miserably. He wanted to have a nice lie in, sleep, cuddle, maybe even get up and force himself to make pancakes for a breakfast in bed, but none of that was supposed to happen before 7 o' clock at the earliest. Not after yesterday, and not after he'd been sleeping the sleep of the well and truly sexed.

"What?" Merlin growled into the phone. There was a pause, then, "'Garrah, couldn't this have waited until a more humane time of the day? Such as when it's actually _day_- Yes, I'm aware that you get up at the butt crack of dawn. That doesn't mean that I have to or intend to, ever. It's an evil time to expect me to be awake- _GARRAH. _I don't indulge on that sort of thing this early in the morning!"

Gwaine smirked into Merlin's back, clinging tighter to him. "If he suggested morning sex, I'm totally agreeing with him."

Merlin elbowed him. "Shut up. No, 'Garrah, not you- _no_ you are not interrogating him this early- he'll say something and you'll have heart failure or come and try to kill him. I know you, 'Garrah. You'll get to talk to him on Sunday. What? Oh. I told Freya too. Yes, she's coming. She's as much a part of the family as Gaius and Arthur, you know that- _yes, _she'll bring Nimue. They're all but attached at the hips. _Garrah!_ And Arthur will probably bring his new girl- Morgana and Morgause are in town too, we may as well just have a reunion or something. Alice? I'm sure if he asks- No, Uther won't come, not after…Not after the stuff with Dad. Look, I'll call you back. I've got work today, and I'm dead tired, alright?" A pause. "Yes, I love you too." Another pause. "And…Garrah? I'm glad we're talking again."

Gwaine smiled, nuzzling his face into Merlin's back, pausing to press kisses to his bony spine. He felt Merlin shift slightly, and a soft chuckle spun through the air.

"Yes. I'll talk to you later, 'Garrah, promise. Zai jian." Merlin dropped the phone on the bedside table and groaned, rolling over in Gwaine's arms, burying his face in Gwaine's chest. "Ugh."

"Sleep, love."

"Not a proble…"

Gwaine grinned as a tiny snore sounded. Still smiling, he closed his eyes and slipped back into sleep.

/

"Ooooh, are those Belgian waffles I smell?"

Gwaine smiled to himself as arms snaked around his waist, and Merlin's chin rested on his shoulder. The waffles stared up at him mournfully, and he neatly swirled syrup on them. "Yes, dear."

"Fantastic," Merlin murmured, turning his head to lightly kiss his cheek. The morning was warm, sunshine streaming through the windows and lighting up Merlin's skin, turning it to a soft, warm gold. He gleamed, sensual and beautiful as Gwaine turned to press lazy kisses to his lips. "Strawberries?"

"Already in the bowl."

"Cream?"

"Whipped and next to the strawberries," Gwaine told him, turning back around to examine the waffles once more.

"I love you."

"I love you too, pet." He turned and lightly kissed Merlin's forehead. The slightly smaller man smiled at him, turning to walk to the table-

His world imploded as an explosion ripped through the window and Merlin turned; face being ripped apart as flames licked over his body.

/

"Gwaine!"

Gwaine bolted awake, lashing at the thing that had come at him, his brain shattered from the image that was lingering. Something caught his arm easily and pinned him. His eyes burst open to see Merlin's worried face. He gasped, shuddering in Merlin's arms and going limp.

Merlin stared worriedly at him. "You were screaming."

"You were dying- It was a natural response," he managed weakly, reaching up to grab Merlin's face and pull him down into a bruising kiss. Merlin fought for a few fractured seconds, and then lowered himself to kiss him softly and sweetly enough to nearly melt them both.

Merlin finally pulled away, the need for air overcoming pleasure. "Dying?"

"Yes. I'd made breakfast, things exploded, you died in front of me. It wasn't pretty to say the least."

"…Breakfast?"

Gwaine nodded weakly, grunting as Merlin rolled off of him and onto his side, gently resting a hand on his bare chest. "Belgian waffles. Strawberries. Whipped cream."

Merlin stared. "That's my favorite."

"…Creepy."

"Oh?" Merlin said dryly.

"Just a bit," he murmured, leaning in to delicately kiss Merlin's forehead again. The man smiled, and lightly patted his shoulder.

"C'mon. Time to get up."

Gwaine watched as the man rolled out of bed, stretching his long legs shamelessly for a moment before he strolled to the closet, stark naked. Gwaine grinned, shamelessly admiring the flex of his back as he moved, swaying back and forth in his hunt for clothing. Merlin paused, and then glanced over his shoulder, smirking when he saw the look Gwaine was giving him.

"You're _insatiable_," he said sternly, but he smiled as he did. Gwaine hummed in response.

"Got a taste for it young, I suppose. Besides, you make things entertaining- and that's to say the least."

Merlin snorted, and threw a shirt at him. "Tough luck. I'm not big on mornings as is, and we're going to be late anyway."

"Like anyone's even going to be there…"

/

The day was warm and bright, and it seemed an honest shame to be driving to work. Fall was in the air- leaves were slightly turning now, and faint whisper of a bite in the wind. People strolled down the city streets, jackets hanging loose on their bodies. Business men and women, with their coffee in hand, paused as they reached for the car keys. Many of them left them on the table, and headed out the door to walk, or take the bus. The day was just too nice to be restricted to a car.

Clearly, Gwaine thought miserably as he stared out the window of Merlin's Desoto, Merlin didn't think so.

When they got into the building, Merlin made a bee-line for his desk, and Gwaine made a bee-line to his, already flocked by about twenty fluttering, fearful underlings with a million questions that they had to answer for the press. He got the feeling that it was going to be a very long day.

/

Mordred wasn't at work, to no one's surprise, but Merlin found himself missing his friend (alright, he admitted it, was the world happy now?) as the day wore on. The time wore on, and the lack of Mordred's sarcastic and yet charming comments was distracting. So when Sanchez came in with a small folded paper, he barely paid attention, trying to file it.

"Boss, that's for you. Mr. Noble sent it."

Merlin blinked, and focused on the paper. It did indeed have his name on it, he noticed vaguely, and it was Gwaine's overly pretty handwriting. He fumbled it open, rubbing at his eyes.

It was a sketch, simple lines and curves that were oddly perfect. A park scene done in black pen, he noticed curiously. A lamp, a bench, small trash can, trees, some stick like people that were oddly natural looking, and a grassy hill made up the picture. Underneath it was another sketch- a coffee mug, with a question mark next to it and steam rising from it.

He couldn't help it. He smiled.

Folding the paper, he put it in his jacket pocket. "Tell Mr. Noble yes, one o' clock."

/

They met up at 1:00 outside of the building. Lunch, and surprisingly good coffee, was found in a small, slightly run-down deli run by a Romanian couple who didn't speak much English. Gwaine instantly adored them and their food, and they adored him, especially when he handed over nearly triple the needed amount and explained through a series of gestures to keep the change. And on his way out, _just _to see their response, he turned back around and handed them another hundred. Their grateful cries followed him and Merlin, who was grinning like a small sunbeam, out onto the street.

"That was sweet of you," he said softly, and Gwaine grinned, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

"They deserve it."

Merlin linked his arm through Gwaine's, and the two strolled down the street. Merlin's long black trench coat swung back and forth, and Gwiane's thick wool one sat neatly against his legs. They cut an interesting pair- about the same height, business dress, heads inclined together like two people with a secret. Couples passing on the street smiled when they saw them, murmuring to each other, "Remember when we were like that?"

They reached the park in record time, and sat comfortably on a bench, looking out at the people who wandered along the street.

Gwaine sipped at his coffee, eyes following a thin young man with his girlfriend. Merlin, following his eyes, leaned against his shoulder for a second before righting himself and going back to his sandwich.

Gwaine reclined against the back of the bench, and then looked appraisingly over at Merlin, who glanced over at him and raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"You know," he said almost introspectively, "I had plans."

"Plans?"

"Oh yes. Plans with a capital "P". There would be this girl, and she would be beautiful."

"Mmhmm."

"And make really good mincemeat pies. Like, the best pies in the _world._ You have no clue. She would be smaller than me, maybe, oh, 5 foot 3? And not beautiful. Just pretty. I have this thing against bombshells, you see. And she would cook, and I would cook, and we would move out to a tiny little cottage by the sea. It would be white, with a thatch roof, and a green door and blue window boxes with pansies in them, and it would be wonderful…so very wonderful. And every night I would fall asleep to the sound of waves on the shore. Every morning I would wake up to a pointed ceiling and pale walls, and I would make breakfast. And there would be all sorts of wonderfulness in my life, and I would have a good job, and I would be so perfectly happy, and who knows, maybe I'd have kids."

Merlin stared at him, looking oddly apprehensive.

"But no. It's not going to happen. I knew that a long time ago." Gwaine sighed, reaching over and twining his fingers with Merlin's, and smiling when the younger man clutched back. "Besides, you've ruined me. I like the adventure too much, and, you know…I seem to have fallen madly in love with you. I mean, it's not fair. Can you honestly say that you love someone when you've known them for barely a few months? But it's true. I love you."

"Gwaine-"

Gwaine kissed him.

/

Sunday, for Gwaine, came much too soon.

"Merlin!"

"What is it?"

"Do I wear a suit or something less formal?"

"…I really don't think he'll care."

Gwaine made a whining noise of terror and fled the room with his bundle of clothing. Merlin returned to where he'd been channel surfing.

/

"Merlin!"

"Yes, dear?"

"Blue tie, red tie, green tie, no tie!"

"…no…tie?"

"Don't say it like a question!"

"No tie!"

Another whimper of terror from the bedroom. Merlin glanced at his watch, sighed, and returned to his oogling of the rugby players darting about on the television's screen.

/

"Mer-"

"Gwaine, I swear, I'm going to shoot you if you ask me another question about clothing!"

"…Should I wear cologne?"

"No. He's allergic to perfumes and stuff."

"Thanks, dear."

Merlin rubbed his forehead and went to pour himself a glass of brandy.

/

"He's going to eat me. Seriously. He's going to take me, and eat me, and swallow me whole. Like a python or anaconda or- or whatever those snakes are that can eat whole cows in one gulp. He's going to kill me. Violently. Possibly with a spoon, or a squirrel, or a talking dog-"

"He's not going to kill you." Merlin turned down the street to where Kilgarrah's townhouse was. The man liked to keep up appearances for Gaius, and had kept it in good repair. Merlin had only been there a few times, mostly when Kilgarrah needed to check on something he had stashed there, and the occasional "family dinners" the man hosted.

"He's your foster-father-kung-fu-teacher-guy, I'm the interloper who's sleeping with you and loving every second of it. He's going to kill me. And he's going to make it very, very painful. I'm sure he knows a million ways to kill me with his _thumb_, let alone just a foot!"

"Babe. Breathe."

Silence, then,

"I'm so dead. And since when do you call me babe?"

/

They parked the Desoto in Merlin's designated spot, next to Kilgarrah's Rolls. In honor of the other restored cars, Arthur's Mercedes-Benz 504K Special Roadster, sleek black and chrome gleaming, was parked out front. Gaius's pet, a gift from Uther (whose love of old cars Arthur had inherited), had pulled up as well and was in front of Arthur's- a ridiculously expensive 1933 Pierce Arrow that had every man in the vicinity drooling like a Pavlovian dog. The Pendragon's, to say the least, liked their cars, and what made Merlin extremely happy was that they liked sharing them as well.

In contrast, Morgana and Morgause's pretty, dark blue '68 Mustang was parked behind the Rolls, looking humble in the midst of the gleaming, glamorous other cars, and Freya's Ducati Monster had been dragged up to a comfortable spot on the grass where it would hopefully not be too damaging. Nimue's bike, a Harley that made the average man quiver in fear, wasn't there though, and neither was Mordred's battered Geo Metro.

Gwaine climbed out and stared around in awe.

"This…is insane. I mean, I knew the Pendragon's were rich, but…"

"You didn't know you'd be stuck with a family of carophiles?"

"That's one way to put it. Now I feel really underdressed…"

Merlin surveyed him. Basic suit, open at the throat, no tie, and a pair of cufflinks that had been borrowed from Merlin. "You'll be fine," he said soothingly, walking over to gently grip his arms and pull him into a quick kiss. He marveled at how open he was already with the other man, when not two weeks ago he would have killed him for merely thinking about killing him. Pulling away, he smiled as a bit of the anxiety faded from Gwaine's eyes.

"Come on. You're less underdressed than me."

Merlin's outfit consisted of a pair of decently nice black jeans and a comfortably worn gray buttoned shirt with pockets and a distinctly military look. His shoes- steel toed brown boots- had clearly seen better days.

Gwaine smiled, pulling him into a quick hug that was only slightly tinged with terrified desperation. "Alright, alright."

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be…"

Merlin grinned, taking his hand and leading him to the door. He wasn't surprised to see Kilgarrah already leaning against the frame with the door open, watching them approaching with sharp eyes. The pince-nez were gone, and he was in surprisingly simple attire today- white oxford shirt, silver slacks, hair pulled into a million and one tiny braids woven with small silver characters for health and protection. Merlin resisted the urge to smirk at Gwaine's wide eyed staring. The Dragon looked especially exotic today- probably purposefully to scare his foster-son's possible mate. Merlin shook his head, amused.

"Gwaine, this is James Kilgarrah Drakon, better known as Kilgarrah. 'Garrah, Gwaine Noble."

Kilgarrah nodded shortly, still eyeing Gwaine with careful intent. Gwaine wisely remained still as he pushed off of the door and began prowling around the two, inspecting him closely. Merlin stepped away from Gwaine, letting Kilgarrah circle him with a critical eye. Once he was done, he nodded.

"Welcome."

Gwaine smiled nervously, and they went inside, Merlin's hand brushing against his every few steps.

/

The table was huge. Made of cherry, solidly thick and currently laden with cutlery, it was the focus of an enormous dining room. The place had once been both a bedroom and a small dining room, but after the family parties began getting steadily larger, Kilgarrah had ordered the bedroom removed and the dining room expanded. The entire place was carefully decorated to be understatedly elegant, and Gwaine was impressed. There were also a variety of dishes that ranged from curry to a rather dangerous looking manicotti set on the table. Two salads, a bunch of breads, and eggdrop soup sat next to something that might have been chow mein.

The others were already all there, and Gwaine quickly absorbed the seating arrangements with interest.

Kilgarrah and Arthur had taken the heads of the tables. On Kilgarrah's left, a thin young man who looked like he'd died and gone to heaven (Merlin whispered that his name was Christian, so far as they could tell, and he was a former Dorocha). Two women (Morgana and Morgause, Merlin murmured) sat beside him, two empty seats on their side as well. Arthur was next, with Gwen on his left, and Gaius, Freya, Nimue, and Mordred following, Mordred on Kilgarrah's right. Gwaine pulled out Merlin's chair (at Arthur's right hand, very symbolic) and then took his own next to the blonde Morgause.

Kilgarrah, once he was pleased that everyone was settled properly, surveyed the table with approval. His eyes rested on Gwaine and Gwen for a bit longer than either of them liked, but he was smiling.

"For the first time," he said softly, "In four years…we are having family dinner. Morgana, Morgause, we're pleased to have you back with us, and Gwaine and Gwen, it's a pleasure to meet you both."

Christian's bald head peeked out, and Gwaine smiled as wide eyes met his. Christian stared at him curiously, then beamed at him, head whipping back away. Gwaine shook his head, grinning.

After what was probably a traditional Chinese prayer, dinner commenced, and the food began to move as chatter broke out. Unsurprisingly, Gwaine was the focus of the Dragons scrutiny, and as things continued, he gradually became the focus of everyone's questions- Including his own secretary's.

"Where were you born?" Mordred started the interrogation.

"Hospital in Soho."

"What's your family life like?" There went Nimue.

"Well, my father is gone to some hole in the world, my mother is hopefully either dead or in rehab, and my brothers are doing well in mechanics, writing, and school- Gareth, the youngest, is working on a doctorate."

"Names of your family?" Freya, eyes dark and wary. He had no doubts that the group would go and check over all of his words later, so the truth was the best in this situation.

"My brothers are Agrivaine, Gaheris, and Gareth. We each have two years between us."

"I have an uncle named Agrivaine…" That was Arthur. The rest of the table collectively shuddered. Everyone had heard of Arthur's extremely creepy Uncle Agrivaine. Morgana _hated_ the man. He'd once been helpful in getting her career started, only to betray her not much later. Thankfully, Morgause had stepped in to help.

"What are your intentions toward Merlin?" Gaius, of course.

Gwaine smiled, neatly spearing some asparagus on his fork. "I'd love to marry him."

Merlin dipped his head over his plate so people couldn't see the enormous grin that had broken across his face at that. Arthur lightly kicked his shin.

Kilgarrah was watching him with sharply curious eyes. "And what then?"

Gwaine's smile went softer. "Well, I'd like to spend the rest of my life with him, wherever and however it may be."

That made Merlin's hand inch onto his leg, where their fingers twined for a moment. Gwaine squeezed them reassuringly.

Kilgarrah's shoulders relaxed. About a millimeter, but that was fine with Gwaine. As long as the Dragon wasn't about to come and try to eat him, he was fine with life.

"I see."

"What kind of music do you listen to?" Morgause, (the music mogul half-sister of Morgana, who'd run away to be a singer rather than a "soulless businesswoman, no offense meant of course") asked.

"Most anything, but I'm partial to classic rock and classi_cal_."

"Why do you yell at that yin-yang paperweight you have on your desk?"

Gwen, of course, eyes sparkling with mischief. Gwaine grinned, resisting the urge to flick something at her. The two of them got along well, and he had no doubt that if he hadn't ended up with Merlin, he would have made a move on her. She was sweet and kind, and could keep up with him. (He thought he was pretty easy to keep up with. The other underlings disagreed with him. Loudly.)

"It can't yell back, and sometimes I'm frustrated by those intrusive reporters."

Gwen grinned. "You mean that one who was all but falling out?"

Gwaine groaned, rubbing his forehead. "_That_ was a nightmare and a half."

"What's all this about?" Merlin asked.

"Oh, this girl from the _Times_. It was the _worst_ interview I've ever had. She wouldn't stop using this horribly obvious innuendo's, and I was so flustered that she was going to lean over and literally fall out of her shirt. It was horrible." He shuddered. "Gwen was there, and even _she _was worried for the shirt."

Gwen nodded sagely. "I thought it was going to get ugly really fast."

Merlin smirked. "Now aren't you glad that you have an excuse to get away from the clingy people?"

"Oh, you have no idea, caro."

"Do you speak Italian?" Kilgarrah asked from his section of the table, eyes focusing shortly on Gwaine before flicking back to where he was delicately dismembering one of the manicotti's (_cooked by Gaius, do not eat if you value your life_, Merlin had murmured).

"Enough to get by at the very least."

Kilgarrah eyed him for a minute and nodded his head, looking very pleased. "You'll have to learn Mandarin Chinese as well," he informed him. "All of them speak at least enough to get by."

Later, when Gwaine was resisting the temptation of having any of the wine (he'd already gone through a good deal of liquid courage before they'd left, and he wouldn't put it past Kilgarrah to drug him), Merlin murmured, "What did you call me?"

"Well, translated it's basically "beloved"." Gwaine said softly, watching as Kilgarrah let Christian sneak food off of his plate. He paused when Merlin failed to respond. Looking over, he was startled to see Merlin looked a bit teary. "Caro?"

"Nothing- nothing."

/

Merlin shut the apartment door, and grinned as Gwaine fell face-first onto the couch. "See? That wasn't so bad."

"Your father cornered me and asked if we had, and I quote, "Indulged in amorous activities" yet, and then told me that he would castrate me if I ever so much as left a bruise on you."

"Foster-father, thanks." He sauntered over and dropped onto the couch, rubbing Gwaine's back. "He's just being protective."

Gwaine rolled over and gave him a wry smile. "He was holding a cleaver."

"Yes, well…I can't guarantee he's perfect."

Gwaine just grinned, and took his hand, lightly kissing each finger. "I know, love." He flipped the hand over and began laving attention on the wrist. Merlin shivered, and Gwaine grinned at him. "Bed?"

"Please."

/

Later, when Gwaine lay boneless and beautiful in the moonlight, Merlin watched him with tired, happy eyes, and wondered how exactly he'd stepped into his life.

/


	10. Iron

**I don't own Merlin. Iron belongs to Woodkid. **

**/**

The pages of the rather bland calendar that hung in Merlin's kitchen seemed to blur. Months passed, quickly and steadily, and with them passed life events.

Merlin nearly died at one point due to appendicitis, Gwaine's brother showed up, shouted a bit and left, Uther left Arthur to run the company and retired with Gaius to the Bahamas, much to Merlin's displeasure –"Do you have any idea how much it costs to call the Bahamas? Let alone get plane tickets!" "Stop complaining, _Mer_lin, you haven't even seen my phone bill."- and Arthur and Gwen continued to make eyes at each other in meetings when they thought people weren't watching. Mordred became a part time employee as the university started up again, taking over the position of Page Coordinator, and Remington and Sanchez married, and moved away with much tears and smiles. Freya was given back her position in the US military, receiving an honorable discharge. Nimue cried through the whole ceremony, to no one's surprise, and Freya wore her saber with pride. The Sokiyama's came and went without any incident whatsoever, and Lance Allot was settled into prison.

Kilgarrah, who now had to take care of another person who should probably be seeing a therapist, started up a shop doing what he actually enjoyed- tailoring clothing. Christian spent his time learning the trade as well as singing constantly in his inhumanely lovely voice. Business boomed, and soon the tiny shop was employing not only them but a set of exceptional seamstresses from China, Mexico, Italy and Nigeria, none of which spoke any English but adored their employer, particularly when a man broke in and demanded money. Christian had tackled the man with a shriek of displeasure, and Kilgarrah had neatly disarmed him and cuffed him none to gently in under 30 seconds. Merlin cut out the newspaper article and smugly added it to a fat scrapbook of incidents that had happened because of the family, with Gwaine looking on and shaking his head.

Life was good for all of them.

/

On the sixth month mark of the attack on Camelot, Gwaine woke at 3 AM to hear the sound of fists on a punching bag. He listened to them for a minute before rolling over to shove his face into his pillow and let out a quiet little scream of frustration.

For the third time in as many days, Merlin was out of bed at 3 o' clock, and taking whatever was bothering him out on the punching bag stationed in the living area. Normally, Gwaine would be fine with this. Violence, after all, was part of his man's life, and he could deal with that, because it was part of his own. But he really wished that Merlin would just _tell_ him what the problem was, rather than leaving him in the darkened bedroom to try and go back to sleep. It had become impossible for him to sleep without Merlin near him, though, so it was a useless exercise.

"Gwaine," he mumbled into the pillow, "You are a ruined man. You really are."

He rolled into Merlin's spot, shifted around a bit, and gave up. Rain drummed on the windows, he noticed vaguely, and thought that tonight would be a terrible time to be outside.

Rolling out of bed, he hunted down a pair of pajama pants and stumbled out of the room to the living room, just in time to see Merlin roundhouse the punching bag and nearly send it through the wall. The Dragonlord snarled, pummeling the thing.

Gwaine sighed and dropped onto the couch. "Please don't break this one. They're getting expensive."

There was a suspicious sounding rip. Gwaine groaned, grabbing a pillow and shoving it over his face. This, he could feel, was going to be a long day.

There was a heavy thump, and he wheezed in pain as Merlin sat on him. Pulling the pillow away, he glowered angrily at the man currently occupying his stomach. "_What_ has gotten into you?" he growled, trying without success to move his lover's bony butt off of him.

"It doesn't make any sense!"

"No, it really doesn't. You eat us out of house and home and still stay skinny as a rail. It's unreal."

Merlin elbowed him in the chest, and Gwaine wheezed again. He began squirming frantically, and Merlin rolled his eyes, hopping off of him only to straddle him and recline on his chest. Gwaine rolled his eyes and sighed, accepting that they weren't going anywhere any time soon. He reached around to wrap his arms around Merlin, and the man nuzzled under his neck.

"So what's wrong?"

Merlin sighed. "It doesn't make any sense whatsoever. Why hire someone to kill someone only to change your mind, and even though you've gone out of your way to be discreet, do something so exceptionally hostile and obvious to steal something of no use?"

Gwaine sighed. "Merlin. It doesn't matter. The Boss has his fingers in a million and one pies, and while he said you were a- quote unquote- "issue", I'm starting to think that he was actually after me."

"What?"

"Edwin was ordered to kill _me_ at first, remember?" He gently squeezed his lover, and Merlin sighed. "Don't worry, love. Let's just be grateful that they're leaving us be, yes?"

Merlin let out a groaned sigh, and nestled against him. "I just don't like it," he admitted sulkily. "I feel like we're about to be pounced on, and everything will be taken away just when it's all going so well."

"I know, love. I know."

/

The night was indeed wet and cold, and the only people out and about were those truly desperate for money. Most of them were in the darker districts as well, in the alleyways and overhangs that are so prevalent in the darker areas of cities.

One of them, a lean young man in a fake leather jacket lined with equally fake fur, was walking down the street, shoulders hunched, an umbrella over his head. He hadn't been having a good night- only two people had stopped him tonight, and they hadn't exactly paid well. He sighed, breath clouding in the air as he slowly wandered through the puddles and other pitfalls that littered the sidewalk.

A car slushed by, but didn't slow down. He grumbled quietly to himself, resisting the urge to flip the car off, and absently glanced down an alley as he walked past it.

He froze.

The umbrella flopped to the ground with a splash, and the young man ran into the alley, hurrying to turn over a body that lay, naked and filthy with blood and muck on the ground. His fingers fumbled for the guy's neck, and he gasped in relief when he felt a pulse, faint though it was. Blood oozed onto his jeans from the man's back, but he ignored it. With shaking fingers he pulled a battered cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number.

"Gwillem, I've got-I've got s-someone that's hurt, he's bleeding out-be ready. I-I'm bringing him to you."

He hung up quickly, cursing with a faint sob as he pulled the man up and over his shoulder. He wasn't a strong man by any stretch of the imagination, but the other man was short and delicate enough that it wouldn't be too hard to move him- provided he lived. For the millionth time, he cursed the fact he was a nice man.

The umbrella was left swaying on the sidewalk.

/

Kieran Gonzales woke to a world of pain, and was not exactly happy about it.

"Whoa! Gwilllem, he's alive and oh _shit _he's strong! Get in here!"

A lamp crashed to the ground, the bulb breaking into a bunch of pieces. Kieran thrashed, only to scream as his back exploded into a world of pain. He tried to curl up, only to shriek as the pain grew even worse. Strong hands shoved him back onto the tattered, bloodied mattress. "Hold your sorry self still, you idiot, or you'll tear out your stitches, and I did _not_ spend three hours helping Gwillem put them in just for you to yank them back out."

Kieran forced his eyes open, looking into furious brown eyes shadowed by lanky brown hair. He keened slightly as the man shoved off, standing up and skulking over to a man who looked like the love child of Einstein and Sigmund Freud who'd come in the door. Kieran watched, eyes fuzzed with pain, as the man who'd saved him poked and prodded at the other man, who seemed to have been distracted by a windchime- _hung inside? What was with this guy?_

"Hoi, Gwillem. Help me out here."

"Rabbits burn cane sugar! Buggerit two pence for a dagger!"

"Yeah, I know, I'll detangle them later alright? You just have to help me check his stitches and fix the dressing. And possibly get some more of those pain pills."

"Bluebird sits on a fence, sits on a fence," the man said seriously, and stomped over to him. Kieran whimpered and tried to pull away, only to be roughly grabbed and his eyes pried open. A bright blue eye peered at him, and Kieran gave up struggling when his back clamored in righteous indignation. It then occurred to him that the only thing covering him was a thin, dangerously stained blanket, and he froze, terrified.

"Well?" The rescuer said dryly.

"Seals. Seals eat lettuce."

Kieran gaped at the man as he roughly rolled him onto his stomach from his side and whimpered as calloused fingers ran over his back. It _burned_, and he sobbed into the mattress as the man poked a bandage in the spot between his shoulder blades. His whole back ached and throbbed, and the rest of him didn't feel much better. The man promptly whacked him on the shoulder, snarling, "Ice cubes!"

"Now, Gwillem, calm down. It's alright."

Kieran could have kissed his rescuer when the harsh hands were removed, and he was rolled back onto his side, the blanket pulled up around his chest. The rescuer looked him over with sharp bad tempered eyes, and drawled, "Well, you're not as bad as it could be."

"What _happened_ to me?" he gasped out, shuddering as tremors hit his back again. Tears were coursing down his face, through the muck, and he didn't dare try and wipe them away.

The other man sighed, and ran a hand through his slightly matted hair. "Well, to put it simply, we have no idea what happened, but we can tell you that you've been hurt."

"How?" Kieran demanded, and another spasm of pain made him gasp in agony. He promptly had two pills shoved into his hand along with a glass of water. "Wha-"

"Take them, now, or you'll pass out and you know it."

Kieran shoved the pills in his mouth and forced himself to swallow through the pain of lifting his arms. The glass crashed back down, rolling away from him, and he winced in pain from over exertion.

"Great. Now, _tell me what happened_," he growled out. It was less of a threat that it should have been, mostly because he was still crying.

The other man sighed, and waved Gwillem out of the room. Already, he could feel the drugs kicking in and kicking in with a vengeance. He lay limp and let the drugs take hold, soothing his brain. It wasn't the first time he'd had painkillers this strong, and he felt a moments panic before remembering that he'd seen the markers for vicoden.

"Well, to put it very simply, you were carved up and probably would've died from blood loss if I hadn't come along. Oh, and…and you were burned."

"Burned?" Kieran asked weakly. His head was starting to swim nicely. _Nice, fast work._

"Branded, actually," the other said grimly. "A capital letter B, between your shoulder blades."

"And the…the carving, as you put it?"

The other sighed, reaching over and almost gently pushing a bit of his hair out of his face. "Do you have any enemies?"

"I'm a kid in cooking school who whores himself in the worst part of town to keep up with the rent and stay alive. No." Kieran pulled back from his touch. "What did they do to me?" His voice was tinged with fear, but his tongue was growing heavy. The mixture of shock and the painkillers had done him in.

"It says "Do you like my gift to you". And…you've got some internal bleeding." The man wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Internal bleeding?"

"We'll talk about it in the morning…"

The man's voice faded as Kieran slumped back into unconsciousness.

/

As the sun rose over the horizon, Kieran's eyes blearily opened again, and he stared in tired befuddlement at the snoozing man who was sitting against the wall. Confused, he realized what exactly he was doing there, and slumped into the mattress. The room was small and dingy, with a vinyl floor covered in worrying stains and cracks. A tall candelabra stood in one corner, and a dim bulb hung from the ceiling, along with a shell windchime by the door. A solitary table, of which the lamp had been knocked off and still remained, was covered in various sharp implements, including new, cheap looking syringes, a curved needle, white thread and several scalpels. His back twinged in pain again, but he ignored it, some of the painkillers still there enough to keep it dull. Returning his attention to his rescuer, he watched as the strangers eyes twitched back and forth under their lids. He felt baffled by the fact the man had gone to him and saved him.

The man, seeming to have felt his attention, and shifted slightly, yawning. Opening his eyes and blinking a few times, he surveyed Kieran rather tiredly. Kieran, feeling self conscious, gathered the blanket around himself.

"Ah, you're still alive then."

Kieran nodded weakly. The man sighed, relaxing back against the wall for a moment before dragging himself to his feet. He wasn't especially tall, and had average looks. A rather forgettable face, truthfully, but it was what Kieran's mother would have called "pleasin' t' look on".

"Very nice. Need anything?" The man stretched lazily.

Kieran swallowed hard. "Why are you doing this?" he asked weakly. "You don't even know me."

The man sighed, rubbing his head. "Sadly, I'm a nice person." He picked up a bottle from where it had been sitting on the floor and took a swig from it. There was a label, but Kieran's eyes wouldn't focus on it. "So, you got a name?"

"Kieran. Kieran Gonzales."

The man raised his eyebrows. "Irish first name, Spanish surname?"

"My mother was Irish by way of Dublin, my father from Spain. And you?" Kieran said rather quietly, only to wince as his back twinged violently. He cringed, and lowered his eyes as the other man rose and sauntered over to the mattress.

"…Will. William Smithson, and I'm from nowhere you need to know about, nor is my family." A shadow passed over Will's face, and Kieran wondered what had caused it.

The man that Will called Gwillem wandered in and announced bad temperedly, "Ducklings blast the castle walls. Buggerum. Tawdry candle wax and turpentine?"

Will nodded. "Yeah, we can move him. Pills and clothes first, though."

Gwillem snorted, and tossed a bottle at him. Will caught it easily, and Gwillem left, muttering, "Tuppence rags on bluebirds, buggerum."

Will shook his head. "You got a place to stay?"

"Apartment on 7th and 25th." Kieran tried to lever himself up, only to have booted foot push him firmly back down. "Listen…do you need anything?"

"What?" Will was preoccupied by the opening of the bottle.

"Do you need anything- is there a way for me to repay you?"

"Only if you've got a place for me to stay and food."

Kieran looked at him and said seriously, "I have a couch and bring home the extras from school."

/

The word "studio" would be infinitely too grand for the hole in the wall that was Kieran's home, but Will looked thrilled all the same when they managed to get there. He went around praising the place, though it was all one room save the bathroom. A cot was set up in the corner, the ceilings were low, and the windows were all grimy, but it was home all the same, and extremely clean. The tiny kitchenette was spotless.

Kieran's body _burned_, despite having taken one of the vicoden, but he still limped to the window that led to the fire escape and tried to push it open. Will promptly came over and helped, whistling when he saw the garden planted there. Tiny rose bushes, miniatures, sat beside more useful things like chives, sage, lavender and oleander.

"Do they need watering?"

"No, it's just-" Kieran's words broke off, and Will turned to glance at him. The man's eyes were wide, trained out the window. Confused, he followed the smaller mans gaze and was surprised to see a slim, dark haired young man with a violin climb out of the opposite window onto _his_ fire escape. He watched with interest as the man set his bow to the strings, contemplated for a second, and then began the most breathtaking solo of _The Swan Lake Suite's "_Scene_" _that he'd ever heard. He stood there, dumbstruck, as the man played on. Other people had opened their windows, and the gang-bangers music in the adjoining building was immediately turned off. The world went still, holding its breath as the man poured his soul into the violin. He was incredibly beautiful, with ice blue eyes that Will could see even across the expanse.

When he finally turned, Kieran's hand was at his mouth, and silent sobs were wracking his body.

/

Over the next week, the two pieced together what had happened, and the full impact of what had happened began setting in, mixing with the schooling that Kieran insisted on going to, and Will having to walk the streets every few nights to keep up rent since Kieran couldn't. From what they gathered, Kieran had been out walking the streets, and a rather plain black car had pulled over. There'd been a man, black and good looking, wearing a suit that did nothing to disguise his muscles, and he'd suggested they find a nice place to get to know one another. Kieran had climbed in, and remembered seeing a red-headed man in the back seat, one that had had work done on his face.

"Not good work, reconstructive. They hadn't done a really great job of it, the skin wasn't quite the right color."

And then what had happened or where he'd gone he didn't know, but slowly Will had explained that it was very likely he'd been raped. He'd been bleeding badly, his body ripped up inside- they'd probably intended to leave him as a message to someone. The words cut into him were proof of that, and the branding…

Kieran had gone a little insane after that bit, his brain shutting down as he tried to comprehend that he'd nearly been killed over a message.

/

The police district where Ian Ared worked was bustling when he saw the boy looking over the wanted sketches on the wall. Any other day, he would have ignored the kid and gone on with his work, but he felt drawn to him, and, well, he didn't have anything better to do with his time.

He walked over, and the kid jumped as he cleared his throat. "Looking for someone?" he asked, a little brusquely.

The kid nodded slightly- he had weird looks, Ared thought, with that tousled auburn hair and Spanish looks. Good looking kid, though, if on the small side. When he spoke, there was a trace of desperation. "I'm looking for a man, a red head who's more strawberry blonde, white, had reconstructive surgery on the right side of his face, maybe from burns. The red might be a dye, though."

Ared felt chills roll up his spine. "Wait a sec." Hurrying over to Grunhilda, one of the bad-tempered desk cops who ran searches, he asked hurriedly, "D'you still have the sketch of Edwin Muirden?"

Grunhilda nodded, digging in the drawer to grab it. "Here. Why-" But Ared was already gone, hurrying back to the kid.

"This him?" The kid looked horrified, and nodded weakly. Ared could have jumped for joy. _Finally_, someone had seen him. They'd all but given up. "Meet Edwin Muirden. He was in charge of that insanity that happened over at the Camelot building. You seen him?"

The kid tore his eyes away from the sketch and looked bleakly at Ared. "All of him."

/

Merlin's day wasn't going all that well when the skinny kid stepped into his private domain. As Arthur was now the complete and utter ruler of the Corporation, he'd been upgraded to "personal assistant"- ie, secretary with a fancier title and a lot more responsibilities. On the bright side, Gwen and Arthur had decided it probably wouldn't be a good thing for Gwen and Merlin to switch the people they worked for, which meant his job was secure for now. Unfortunately, he'd had to hand the reins of the Pages over to Mordred, thanks to the fact that he was so busy there wasn't any possible way from him to ever handle the workload. The Pages had taken it well, and enthusiastically. Mordred was pretty well liked, and had dazzled them all with his coordination skills, despite only working part time. They were still working on filling the gaps left by Sanchez and Remington, but Merlin didn't doubt Mordred would pick the right people.

As for his day though…he'd woken up _again_ thanks to his stupid nightmares and he knew Gwaine was starting to suffer from it. Ever since the fifth punching bag broke, his man had started getting quieter, his eyes duller and darker, and to say he was worried was an understatement. He wasn't eating near as much anymore, and the other day when he'd reached out to touch him, he'd flinched. It was slowly driving him mad, and when Gwaine had burned himself when he'd jumped at Merlin's voice had taken the cake. Merlin wasn't feeling well, his man was suffering, the anxiety was getting to him, and Arthur's handwriting looked like chicken scratch- practically indecipherable.

So, really, the kid came on the wrong day, but Merlin just wasn't able to bring himself to be angry.

"You need something?"

Well, really angry.

The kid- _Good grief, that's some weird genetics right there- _nodded weakly. "I…I have information, I guess- A-about Edwin Muirden?"

Merlin's heart _stopped_.

_Finally_.

The world rushed back into focus and he scrambled through the papers to the phone on his desk. Motioning the man to sit in one of the chairs, he jabbed the number for Gwaine's extension. "Hi, yeah, I need you up here _now_. There's someone here who says he's got info on _him_."

The man, who was already looking skittish, now looked positively petrified. Merlin smiled gently at him, standing up. "So, do you have a name?"

"Kieran Gonzales."

Mixed blood then, that'd do it, but the outcome was certainly pretty. Merlin approved, and seeing as he was the product of an Irish woman and a man with what they assumed was Arabic-Chinese-Scandinavian heritage, he was all for multi-cultural love. (Kilgarrah much later would explain to him that the first Dragon had been Chinese, and the Dragonlord one of the Assassin's out of the Hashashin order during the Crusades, and that the two had mixed and mingled over time.) He surveyed the kid with the critical eye he reserved for potential clients and the days where Gwaine came home a _bit_ too drunk. The kid squirmed.

Clean hands, nails trimmed almost to the quick, suggesting he worked somewhere that needed to be sanitary and had carried it over into his personal life. His shirt was loose, with long sleeves that didn't quite come to his wrists, similar to a chef's jacket- perhaps that was his occupation. He wore jeans that were too worn to be new or even just bought abused, so old and probably well cared for. His shoes were also immaculately cleaned, with only a few splotches of mud on them from where he'd walked in. It had been raining heavily all week, that wasn't surprising. His eyes were haunted- Merlin knew the look well. He'd spent enough time in Shanghai whore houses hunting his next targets to know where that sort of look came from.

"Come on in."

/

Five minutes later, Gwaine, Merlin, and Arthur sat staring in horror at the kids back.

The stitches were neat, like Gaius did them, and would leave the skin smooth as possible, but there was no disguising the words, or the thick, terribly elegant "B" that sat, in Medieval script, between the young man's shoulder blades. It was a dark purple at the moment, Kieran's body trying to adjust and heal.

"We've got to find him," Gwaine said bleakly, and went over to Kieran, helping him with his shirt. The man had explained everything to them in halting, hesitant words, looking delicate and fragile. Merlin had wanted to punch something when he told them in a soft half-whisper about what Edwin had done, how he'd defiled him and broken him. He fought down the urge and kept calm for Kieran's sake though, and as his man gently pulled up a chair for their guest, he felt a pang of guilt.

_I should have just killed him and been done with it, _he thought bleakly, watching as Arthur handed him some water and Kieran timidly accepted.

Arthur came back to sit on his desk, eyebrows furrowed. "_What do you think?_" he asked in Mandarin as Gwaine struck up a conversation. Merlin raised an eyebrow at the words. Arthur had clearly been practicing a bit, he thought absently, and returned his attention to Kieran and Gwaine. _"Well?" _Arthur asked again, quietly.

Merlin shrugged helplessly. "_Well, we know he's in the city at least. And he was trying to send a message, which is worrying. I'm wondering about the black guy, though- we haven't heard anything about him."_

"_Perhaps The Boss himself."_

"_Gwaine met the Boss, and he was white._"

Arthur snorted softly. _"If you were The Boss, would _you_ show yourself to a person you're later going to dispose of?"_

Merlin considered this and shook his head, watching as Kieran quietly told Gwaine about going to cooking school. He was steadily calming down, it seemed. Gwaine had that effect on people. "_No. You're right."_

"_As always."_

"_Shut up."_

"- New roommate, the one who found me, his name's Will-"

For the second time that day, Merlin's heart stopped dead still. Shoving off the desk, he rushed over. "Will? He wouldn't happen to be William Smithson?"

Kieran looked startled, and nodded warily. "Yes, he's the one paying rent for me right now-"

"Where is he!?"

Arthur was at Merlin's side then, pulling him back away by his waist, trying to whisper for him to calm down, but Merlin was fighting him, head turned frantically to Kieran, demanding to know where Will was. The man looked terrified, and Gwaine looked like someone had picked up a hammer and slammed him in the face.

Gwaine recovered as Arthur wrestled Merlin to his chest, shoving his face into his shoulder and snarling, "Take him into the antechamber- I'll get him calmed down." Gwaine did just so as Merlin thrashed violently, trying to get away, sobs and curses coming from his throat. The door shut, and Arthur hit him hard in the face. That was enough to shock him out of it, and Merlin stared at him blankly for a few seconds, only to slowly fold to the ground and curl up, eyes blank and teary.

Arthur sighed, sitting down and pulling Merlin's head into his lap. "Get a grip," he said, not unkindly. Merlin let out a weak sob at that, burying his face in Arthur's legs, and broke.

/

Fifteen minutes later, a red-eyed Merlin and a rather exasperated Arthur came out of the office to see Gwaine talking soothingly to Kieran, who looked rattled. Gwaine abruptly stopped talking, and an incredibly awkward silence descended.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said quietly. "Will and I were close friends growing up. He…he left my life in a very painful way when I was 16, and I've been looking for him ever since."

Kieran swallowed hard. "It's fine…you just kind of startled me. I…I could arrange for you to talk, or-or something…" his voice trailed off helplessly. Merlin smiled weakly at him.

"I'd like that," he said. The tension in the air broke apart, and everyone breathed a little easier. Merlin straightened a bit. "There's just some last things I'd like to go over."

Kieran nodded, and Gwaine rose, letting Merlin take his chair beside Kieran. Arthur inclined his head toward the office door, and Gwaine obediently followed him inside, his emotions in turmoil. The second the door slid shut, he demanded, "Who the hell is Will, and what did he have to do with Merlin?"

Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead and looking about twenty years older. "Sit down," he said tiredly. Gwaine wavered, and then threw himself into a chair. Arthur went around the desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, filling both. He pushed one towards Gwaine, who took it, and knocked the other back. Wincing slightly, he began speaking in a tired monotone. "His mother never married his father, you know that." Gwaine nodded silently. "Did you know she was married when Merlin turned 16?"

"He mentioned something about it, yeah."

Arthur drank a bit more, and sighed. "Hunith… Hunith loved Merlin, but she didn't make the grandest of choices in a husband. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Merlin was about 7, so he told me, when he and Will met, and they hit it off right away. Best of friends, adored each other to no end- They lived in the bad part of town. Will took a bullet for him once, not that Merlin will tell me about it, but they were so close. So, they're about 13 and both realize that they don't really _like_ women. And then they realize that they _like_ each other, and one thing happens after another, until they lose their virginity at 14- _four teen, Gwaine- _to each other, under the goddamn bleachers at the school, to each other. And they're in love, and the world is sunshine and rainbows and unicorns and happy, and then there's Kanen. And Kanen falls for Hunith, but not for Merlin, and who, Merlin told me once when he was drunk enough to talk about it, _hates_ Hunith's little faggot of a son and doesn't mind telling and showing him when she's not around. So Merlin runs off for a bit, stays with Will and his dad, but things are going steadily from bad to worse. Then Kanen shows up drunk, with a knife, and tries to kill Will when Merlin's out getting food for Will's dad, who's dying of cancer. Will fights him off, but Kanen tells him, very clearly, that if he continues to see Merlin, he'll kill Merlin and that it'll be all his fault. So Will calls Merlin, sobbing and miserable, tells him he has to break it off and the reason why, and whispers the words "I love you" into the phone- which abruptly goes dead. Merlin panics, runs to the house, but Will is gone and his father's unconscious. The place is turned over, everything of value's been left, the only thing missing is Will, and his father dies before he even gets to the hospital."

Gwaine just stared at him, glass lolling in his hand.

Arthur stared blankly at the bottle of whiskey before filling his glass again. "So Merlin's stuck at home with a man who hates him and beats him whenever he gets the chance, and once does much, much worse, but only when Hunith's gone. So eventually he just runs away, finds Gaius, and begs him into taking him in as his ward."

He knocked back the entire glass this time, and Gwaine just stares blankly at the desk. It's not the story that bothers him, it's the monotone misery that tells him it's only the simple repeating of facts.

"And that, Gwaine, is how I met Merlin."

Gwaine put the glass to his lips, and drank deep.

/

Merlin knew the second that Gwaine walked out of Arthur's office, Arthur had told him. He felt his head droop as his man walked straight past him and out the door, not even pausing to look at Kieran before he left. Kieran watched him with concern, and looked back at Merlin.

"Did… Did I do something wrong?"

Merlin sighed. "No. I…I hadn't ever talked about Will with him though."

Kieran nodded understandingly. "I get it." His eyes got sad. "At this point I just wish I _had_ someone that I could argue with in a relationship."

Merlin scrutinized him. There was something there… "You're in love with someone, aren't you?"

Kieran's smile was heartbreakingly sad. "Yes. He lives across from me, in the building next door. And he plays the violin on his fire escape, and he's _beautiful_ and so talented…And his eyes. Oh, his eyes, they're this wonderful ice blue that makes you feel like you're falling into a glacier made of lava, if that makes any sense, and his hands! His hands are long, and the fingers…I could write sonnets about his fingers, really, they're magnificent. And his eyebrows. I could write sonnets about his eyebrows, if only because they're inhumanly beautiful-"

Merlin smiled, reaching out and gently ruffling his hair. Kieran smiled a bit brighter, letting his words trail off.

"Listen, Kieran…does Will need a job?"

"You mean one that doesn't pay by commission, so's to speak?"

Merlin's heart clenched, but he nodded. "Yes. We need another Page."

"…What's a Page?"

Merlin grinned. "Hold on, I'll have Mordred come up here. Just…don't tell Will about me yet? I'd prefer to talk to him on my own." Standing, he was about to head to his desk and call the extension, but Mordred promptly flounced through the door, announcing, "Really, Merlin, I can't handle it any more, we _need _another Page, we've slowed down so badly-"

Merlin grinned. "We may have found one for you."

"We?"

Merlin took his arm and turned him to see Kieran, who looked up through his wavy hair and let out a little gasp, eyes widening.

"Mordred Arthmael, this is Kieran Gonzales…" Merlin trailed off when he saw the way Kieran slowly rose from his seat, eyes locked with Mordred's, and felt the attitude of the room shift. Releasing Mordred's arm, he stepped back and watched as the two slowly walked to each other, Mordred's eyes wide and suddenly shy, Kieran looking like he'd just seen the heavens.

They reached out, slowly taking each other's hand, and just sat there, smiling oddly, shyly.

"I…I see you play," Kieran said softly, his cheeks beginning to pink, and Merlin's jaw dropped. This could _not_ be happening, he thought frantically, but it was, as evidenced by Kieran continuing with, "You've got an incredible talent."

Mordred's blush came in full force. "Really, I'm not that good- the acoustics in my apartment are just terrible- y-you hear me play?"

Kieran's eyes lit up, and a small smile brightened his entire face. "I live across from you- the other building, in the one with the fire escape with the roses."

"I've, ah, been meaning to compliment you about that, but you've never been outside when…when I am. I…I wondered who lived there. I often saw ones like it in China- where did you find them?" Mordred asked, and Merlin retreated to his desk before he fell over in shock. Mordred's tone was positively demure, and he seemed totally riveted by the man opposite him. Shaking his head, he returned to his paperwork and let the two make small talk about roses and violin strings and that fantastic smell coming from Mrs. O'Neil's place, and yes, his family was Spanish-Irish, you lived in China? Well yes, but that was a while ago and d-do you have anything going on tonight, because, well, you see, there's this fantastic Chinese place and _great good gods_ your eyes are beautiful, and of course I'm free, 7:00 is good, and thank you, most people just notice the hair and skin tone, ha-ha.

And then Kieran was gone, cheeks flushed a soft, pretty shade of red, and Mordred was standing pole-axed in the middle of the room.

"I'm in love," he announced, and drifted out the door, grinning like a loon.

(Or, as much as loons can grin, Merlin thought in annoyance, seeing as they are birds and aren't much in the way of smiles.) Sighing, Merlin returned to his work, gloomy with the knowledge that while Mordred apparently believed in love at first sight, his own lover was probably not very happy with him.

/


	11. Soul Meets Body

**I don't own Merlin. **

**Title comes from Death Cab for Cutie's Soul Meets Body. (Love you, cara. And, sorry, the couch stays.)**

**I am shamelessly plugging the marvelous EachPeachPearPlum, my beta, and an amazing author. GO AND READ HER WORK, PEOPLE.**

**/**

Merlin slowly made his way to his car, trying his hardest not to let his stomach jitters give him away too badly. Gwaine, according to Gwen, had said that he'd be taking the bus home, and while Merlin understood that he had felt the need to get away for a bit, he didn't really want to go and force himself to talk about Will. It was a painful subject, still, and his brain was reeling from the fact that he was alive. Admittedly, it was stupid to have even hoped, but the name Will had rung a bell and after that long of a day, it had just been too much. Hope, on occasion, was a terrible thing.

He reached the Desoto, unlocked it, and climbed inside. He sat there for a minute, just feeling the age of the machine and letting it cradle him, warm and protective as always. As a gift from Arthur, the Desoto had at first been a hindrance rather than a help. It was long, bulky, nigh on impossible to park, and required upkeep in gas that was nearly impossible to keep up with. Luckily, Arthur had known a guy who knew a guy who knew how to give the beautiful car a rather more gas-friendly engine, but it was still unbelievably expensive. He hadn't liked the color scheme- white, chrome, and blue stripe, with a gray interior that did nothing for him- but had dealt with it because he didn't have the money to buy a car on his own.

But over time, he and the car had met on good terms, and now he loved it. There were times, when he felt bad enough, that he would just go down to the garage and sit, just soaking up the age and warm comfort of the machine. It was more friend than car anymore, and he was fine with that.

Sighing, he stuck the key in the ignition, and as the Fireflite rumbled to life, he absently wondered if he was going to be sleeping in its backseat that evening.

/

He knew it wasn't going to be pretty when, for the first time in six months, he came home to Gwaine sitting on the couch, with seven beer bottles neatly set on the coffee table and a shot glass next to a bottle of whiskey. Three of the bottles were empty, and about half of the whiskey was gone. He shut the door slowly; Gwaine's head turned slightly at the faint noise, only to return to his contemplation of the wall. A beer bottle swung loosely in his hands, swaying rhythmically back and forth. Merlin closed his eyes, leaning against the door and resisting the urge to hit something. _I should have known, I should have known…_

"Care to join me?" Gwaine drawled quietly, and Merlin slowly pushed off the wall, walking over to him. His stomach was clenched, and as he sat on the couch, it only got worse.

There was a faint clink as the fourth beer was opened, and Merlin closed his eyes, letting the couch swaddle him. He'd never really minded Gwaine's drinking; it wasn't like it was anywhere near like Kanen's had been, and he was typically a friendly, adoring drunk, not like his drunkenness ever lasted very long. He sobered up pretty fast when the need arose or his senses were well and truly needed. There was also the fact that, like too many people he knew, Gwaine was very good at _acting_ drunk without actually drinking.

Merlin took the beer, and silence descended, low, slow, and very uncomfortable.

Nearly five minutes later, Gwaine said in a low voice, "Why."

Merlin's throat tightened, and he sighed. "It was painful," he said quietly. "The only reason I ever even told Arthur was because when I showed up at Gaius's, he saw all the bruises and cuts and wanted to know what I was running from. I wanted…I wanted to leave Will behind. I had a chance at a second life, and it…it _hurt_ to know that I was the reason that he was probably dead." He rolled the bottle between his fingers, eyes bleak. "Now I know it was much worse."

Gwaine sighed. "Just…don't lie to me."

"Lie to you? Why would I lie to you?" Merlin said, and that was the spark. The tiny little bit of friction that, ten minutes later, had them in each other's faces and screaming, furious, angry, feeling bitter and betrayed and hurt.

The spark that, ten minutes and 30 seconds later, had the room dead silent, reverberating with the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

A tiny drop of blood fell onto Gwaine's shirt, immediately staining the white crimson.

Merlin stared in horror at his man, taking in the wide, startled eyes, and the place where his punch had split his lip.

Gwaine reached up and slowly touched the split, seeming surprised when his fingers came away bloody. He stared blankly at his fingers, as if trying to make sense of something that was too odd to comprehend.

And that was when Merlin bolted, already in tears.

/

Gwaine watched, completely baffled, as Merlin promptly fled to the bedroom and locked the door, leaving him alone in the living area. Totally confused, he rubbed his fingers together absently and went to go find some gauze and warm water. May as well fix himself up before Merlin came back out- It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, or long enough. Really, it was just a tiny little cut, and would probably be healed in the next few days.

What he was really confused about was that Merlin had run away.

Shoving a washcloth under the faucet, he contemplated this little fact with the odd detachment of the shocked. It really didn't make any sense for Merlin to bolt. After all, it wasn't like A) there was anywhere to go and B) it hadn't happened to him before. Generally speaking, Gwaine had always been a bit leery about relationships, but he'd been in enough to know that this, when people were mad and frustrated, was standard procedure. He'd had much, much worse in his time with his first love, after all. Sighing, he hunted down the gauze and pressed it gently to his lip, wincing slightly as it stung. Admittedly, it didn't hurt anywhere near to having a lighter taken to his toes, but it was a bit painful. Head wounds tended to be on the bloodier, messier, painful side, after all.

Once the bleeding had stopped and he'd found a small butterfly bandage to put over it, he decided he'd given Merlin enough time to get out of his funk. In steps that were much to steady for the average drunk, he went to the bedroom door and knocked twice, leaning against the frame.

"Merlin?"

Silence was his only response.

"Merlin, I'm not mad."

Silence again.

"Merlin, please just come and talk to me."

The silence was deafening.

Gwaine sighed, resting his head on the door and wishing that he had less of an alcohol tolerance. The adrenaline had started itself on the journey of sobering him up very quickly, blast it. "Love…" he said softly, "do you want me to leave for a bit?"

There was a large amount of no answer, and Gwaine's heart constricted.

"Alright, love…I'll be back later tonight, alright?" He pushed off the door frame, and headed to the living room. As he passed the coffee table he picked up the empty bottles and dropped them in the recycling bin, wishing that his head was a little more fogged. He was really beginning to _hurt_, and it wasn't pleasant. Lack-of-hurt was the reason he drank, after all. Picking up the rest, he set the still closed bottles back in the fridge and the whiskey in the cupboard, and was about to grab his jacket when he noticed Merlin's phone sitting on the counter. He considered it for a moment, then picked it up and began looking through the contacts list.

/

Kilgarrah was not accustomed to people ringing his doorbell, and was understandably wary in opening it, but he was even more surprised when he saw Gwaine, hair plastered down by the rain and grinning through a split lip decorated by a tiny white bandage.

He considered the man on his porch, and sighed. "Well, I suppose you'd better come in then."

/

Mordred, being Mordred, existed in his own little world, where rules and regulations really didn't count for much, and morals were completely and utterly negotiable. He'd spent a long time working on his particular brand of insanity, and was almost proud of it, save one little problem.

His life had not been made for two people. He'd spent _years_ getting accustomed to the fact that he was stuck as a bachelor for the rest of his conceivable life. This was mostly because he didn't know anyone who'd be willing to put up with the flashbacks, paranoia, and general brutality that accompanied him wherever he went. Especially after the fight that had split the family, with Merlin taking off to go help Arthur, and Mordred going with Freya and Nimue to work with the Avalon group, he'd always figured that he wasn't going to have any luck with relationships for the rest of his life. He accepted it. He'd gotten on with his life, knocking heads in for Avalon when necessary, screwing around with whoever he could find in a bar (he may have been underage, but that had never stopped him. _Nothing_ stopped a determined, charming Mordred when he wanted something) when he needed to relax a bit, and generally adjusting to a life that was free of owners and people who wanted him to be someone he wasn't. He'd never had the chance to truly adjust to this strange new place, this country that was so _different_ and full of rules he didn't understand. Merlin had ensured he'd gotten a high school diploma, and despite the fact that they'd tried very hard to pretend that they'd never known one another, he'd ended up working for Uther and then Merlin. Work- real, honest to goodness working- had gotten him the money to go to college. Oh, Nimue had gotten his violin for his music scholarship, but the rest had been him. One did not become a wedding planner/performer without a college degree these days, and that especially applied to ex-whores with enough mental and physical scars to compensate for a rugby team. And now…

He had a date.

And he was in love with a person he'd known for the grand total of one day. Actually, about half an hour. Maybe fifteen minutes. Okay, less than fifteen minutes.

He slumped against a wall, clutching his head and staring in worried bewilderment at his closet.

What do you wear when you know that you already want to marry the person?!

Mordred understood the rules of clubbing. He understood the rules of seduction. He understood sex, drugs, rock and roll, and the wild and crazy world of accounting and bridezillas. He knew what to wear on each of those occasions.

He did not understand dating.

And so, at 6:45, he did what had to be done.

/

"…And you're not actually drunk?"

"Nope. I'd really like to be, but I've got such a tolerance to it by now it's bloody well nigh on impossible. Starting drinking when you're nine years old does that to you, y'know?"

"…And you just said bloody. How very odd. What are you doin- NO. You may _not_ have that brandy. That was a gift from my wife."

"Speaking of, where is she? I've never met her."

"…Morrigan is six feet under in a small park by a lake in Switzerland, beside the child I never got to raise and a mile away from the one I should have. Put. It. Back."

"Alright, alright…can I at least have the whiskey?"

"…Fine."

"Thanks."

"…You just…"

"What? Downed a fourth of a bottle? Yeah, typical. Y'know, I'm beginning to honestly think that I've got alcohol immunity."

"…Great good gods, what _has _Merlin got himself into this time?"

"Y'know, I'd dearly like to understand that one myself. I mean, why me? Honestly, sometimes I look at him and I just think, "Merlin, you beautiful thing, why didn't you just kill me and go find someone better?" because, really, there's a _lot_ of people who are better than me. Matt Damon. Tom Cruise. Jake Glenden-Gilden-Gyhylden-whats-his-face-hall. Percival- No, never mind, he and Elyan are together, and isn't _that_ a weird thought. Arthur, for heaven's sake. Even _Christian_ would be better for him. I'm…I'm _nothing_. De nada. I wasn't even a very good hitman."

"That's not what I've heard."

"I was merciful."

"That's not a bad thing, Gwaine."

"It is when someone orders you to bring back a damn ear and you high tail it to the Florida Keys to keep your balls intact. He was a vicious man, he was, I gotta say- Where did the whiskey go?"

"…You're an interesting drunk, have I mentioned that? For a drunk that isn't actually much of a drunk."

"…I think you said it when I started trying to climb the china cupboard chasing after the dust bunnies."

/

The phone on Merlin's coffee table rang at precisely 6:45. Merlin, from where he'd curled himself into a ball wearing one of Gwaine's ridiculously oversized hoodies, uncurled and looked at it with bloodshot eyes. Slowly, a hand was extracted from blankets and folds of cloth to pick up the small thing, and "accept" was hit.

"Mordred?" His voice cracked slightly, and he curled up with the phone to his ear.

"_Oh thanks be to the heavens, you picked up_." Mordred sounded well and truly panicked. "_I have no clue what to wear."_

"…Wear?" From the corners of his brain not panicking from the punch and mourning the existence of his very life and the idiocy of his actions, a trickle of information inched its way in as gears turned. "For…OH. Date. Right."

Life was a very weird thing, Merlin thought, as Mordred ranted to him desperately, voice getting steadily higher. One person in tears from abusing their love, one almost in tears as they go to meet their love. Finally, he just interrupted him, mostly because his eardrums were threatening to explode. "Mordred, breathe. Okay? You are going to wear that green shirt you have, the _ai_ charm necklace, black hoodie, and black jeans. Alright?"

"_You, Merlin, are a life saver. I forgive you for everything you've ever done, up to and including that time where you dyed my hair orange. WAIT! SHOES! Woe is me, shoesshoesshoes-_"

Merlin rolled his eyes, grinning weakly at the sound of shoe boxes being tossed about. "Anything but the orange chucks, alright?"

"_I love you. You may have just ensured that I have my soul mate._"

"Not a problem. Where are you going again?"

"_Chinese place around the corner._"

"It's raining."

"…_Crap. What do I do?!_"

Merlin grinned at the desperation in his voice. "I'm sure the Metro's in good enough shape. Or you could just use an umbrella, like a normal human being. Walking in the rain can be romantic, I suppose. Never done it myself…"

"_All the umbrellas I have are painted silk!"_

"Mordred, you have nearly 15 umbrellas. Sacrifice one of them."

/

"You have your phone on you?" Will asked sternly from where he was watching Kieran frantically pace around the tiny square of linoleum that was in front of the door.

"Yes, yes."

"And you'll be back by nine or call me, because I've got to be gone at 9:30 to catch the regulars."

"Yes, Will."

"And you won't eat anything akin to tongue, brain, or tail?"

"Don't mock ox tail soup, that stuff is great." Kieran fiddled with his watch, looking anxiously at the cracked face, trying to make out the time. "Tongue's rather bland, I've found. I don't like brain much, though." There was a faint retching noise, and Kieran grinned at his roommate. "What? Never had it before?"

"No, thanks all the same." Will had turned a delicate shade of green. "I've had to eat a lot of things in the course of my life, but I will have it said that I never ate tongue. Or brain."

Kieran grinned briefly, but it quickly vanished. He looked back at his watch for a minute, and then said hesitantly, "Will?"

"Mm?"

"What…what's wrong with me?"

Will looked up from where he'd been scrutinizing a stain on the couch. "What do you mean, what's wrong with you? You're a perfectly healthy young man going on a date with another healthy young man who happens to like Chinese food, and who you happen to be in love with. Please explain the problem?"

Kieran fidgeted slightly, looking uncomfortable, and returned his gaze to his watch. "Two weeks ago I was raped and tortured. And yet I'm going on a date with a person I hardly know."

"You remember none of it."

"But I know it happened. Shouldn't…I don't know, shouldn't I be a bit more, well, broken?"

Will folded his arms and stared intently at him. "Kieran Gonzales, your mentality is not like anyone else. How you handle stress and trauma is totally unique for each person. Personally, I think it's because you're one of the sweetest, most beguilingly innocent people I've ever met, temporary whoring aside. And, who knows, it might just be that this Mordred could be the key to fixing whatever the hell is wrong with you."

Kieran stared at him, and then nodded slowly. "Thanks, Will."

"De nada, boyo."

Kieran grinned, and jumped as there was a soft knock on the door. Will flashed him a thumbs up, and warily, he pulled it open. A shy grin blossomed across his face. "Hello."

Mordred smiled back just as shyly, and said, "Ready?"

/

Merlin was vaguely aware of someone singing, but seeing as he was currently occupied with a bottle of vodka, some cherries, and a very squished orange, he didn't care much. He was also vaguely aware that it sounded a lot like _his _voice, but really, that was ridiculous- oops, there went one of the cherries, straight into the window.

"NO! COME BAAAAACK! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS, MR. CHERRY! IT DIDN'T HAVE TO END LIKE THIS!"

The banana, who was having serious doubts about itself as a person at this point, decided that maybe escape should be a little higher on its priority list.

/

Kilgarrah watched in amusement as Gwaine scrambled up the back of the couch, eyes as wide as saucers and marginally less terrified than was normally seen in skittish racehorses. "Alright there?" He asked mildly.

"It's _looking_ at me!"

"Yes, as _he_ has eyes. He's also very curious."

Wolfy eyed Gwaine with hungry appreciation. A small tongue flickered out, and he hissed loudly.

Gwaine swore.

Kilgarrah chuckled, leaning back in his high-backed armchair and letting Wolfy have fun with his new friend. Gwaine, of course, was terrified out of his wits, but that was to be expected. After an incident with a small garden snake two months ago, Kilgarrah had learned that he was more than a bit leery of scaly creatures. It really was rather funny to watch though.

Eventually, Gwaine warily slid down the couch, Wolfy watching his every move. Eyes firmly fixed on the large iguana, Gwaine sat still, wedging himself into the corner of the couch.

Wolfy, realizing that his prey had been cornered, promptly struck.

Gwaine shrieked as he received a lapful of large, green, mischievous iguana with very long claws.

"Hold still, he just wants to get a look at you," Kilgarrah drawled, reclining a bit more. Wolfy bobbed his head in a loose "yes" motion, his tongue flicking out and back in. Gwaine swallowed hard and tried not to cringe.

"So," Kilgarrah continued once Wolfy had completed his survey of Gwaine and had decided that his lap would make for a very nice place to sleep. "Why did you come to me?"

Gwaine looked marginally embarrassed. "Well…you're really the only person I know who wouldn't think I was insane if I stayed."

"You're going to stay then." Kilgarrah very carefully ensured that his voice was devoid of inflection.

"Yes. Violence… violence is part of both of our lives, and really, that was nothing."

Kilgarrah's eye brows twitched upward. "Nothing?" He echoed, surprised. "Nothing that a person who panics when you so much as get a hangnail punched you hard enough to split skin and draw blood?"

Gwaine smiled at him, and Kilgarrah noticed that it wasn't the smile of a drunk man. _Ye gods, he's gone through how much alcohol and is still sober enough to talk about this? _The younger man warily rested his hand on Wolfy's back, and seemed pleased when the iguana relaxed a bit. "The first person I was ever in a relationship with would knock me unconscious," he admitted, eyes focused on the scales and spines. "He'd take me out with one hit, tie me to the bed, and the take a lighter to the bottom of my feet when I did something stupid- and as insurance that I wouldn't run. This is nothing, Kilgarrah. I…I guess that I'm just confused."

"Confused?"

Gwaine nodded, slowly stroking the iguana's head. "Why wouldn't he tell me?" He asked quietly. "I mean, it's not like I know everything about him- he won't tell me anything about Mordred, for one, or why you have a home in China, or even how he and Freya met up. I know that he's got secrets, because I have plenty I'm not telling either, but this…this is a bit much."

"How so?"

Wolfy resettled in Gwaine's lap, making the man stare intently for a minute before returning to his petting. "I don't have someone that I might still be in love with, for starters."

/

The front of the restaurant was small, with a rather plain and simple design scheme. The walls were covered in simple bamboo mats, with a round, red, interlocking design painted over it that looked like they had been copied from the Forbidden City. Bamboo plants sat discreetly in the corners, and a faint trickle of water could be heard over the faint buzz of people. The people seated at various tables about the room were diverse. Gangsters and mafia bosses sat elbow to elbow with young Chinese mothers with their children. Kieran immediately approved of the place. It was immaculately clean, and tantalizing aroma's slipped through the air with ease, from the kitchen could be seen behind the counter. He sniffed appreciatively, letting the scents of chicken and rice invade his nose. It took a great deal for him not to drool. In class they'd worked on puffed pastry, and this food smelled infinitely better. Mordred grinned at the look on his face, pushing his hood back and waving to one of the serving girls in a _cheongsam_. She hurried over, inclining her head and murmuring something in soft Mandarin.

Kieran watched in interest as Mordred inclined his head and replied in the same language, but with an extremely different accent. The girl nodded, bowing again, and scurried off in the direction of the kitchen.

"What did she say?"

"Oh, she was just asking my name."

"I didn't hear you say it."

"I gave her my Chinese name for the reservations," Mordred explained, and made a noise of approval as the _cheongsam_-wearing girl returned holding menus. Her hair, tied up in two buns and bedecked with ribbons, bobbed once and then whipped around as she scurried towards another direction, waving an excited hand for them to follow.

Kieran raised an eyebrow. "You have two names?"

"Yep. The Chinese one is Wu Dàiyù."

Kieran stared at him, fascinated, and promptly nearly ran into a plant. Recovering quickly and trying to ignore both Mordred's grin and the color flooding his cheeks, he said "And that means…"

Mordred stiffened ever so slightly, and his smile became a bit strained. "Dàiyù means "dark one", though it's typically more of a feminine name. Wu can either mean "soft", or "gentle", but in my case it's just a surname."

They entered a hallway that led to a small, private back room with a round doorway. Mordred grinned, and waved him in. "After you, love."

Face going a delicate shade of red, Kieran complied.

/

Kilgarrah's Rolls rumbled to a halt, and Gwaine clambered out of the car. Leaning down, he said seriously to the Dragon ensconced inside, "Thank you. For listening, and all that. I…Well, there wasn't really anyone I could go to, and I just needed to talk for a bit. And drink some more, too."

The Dragon gave him the most deadpan stare he'd ever received. "If you start crying I swear I'll punch you."

"Thanks, Baba."

Gwaine grinned as Kilgarrah made a noise of strident disapproval and shut the door, turning to head up into the building.

/

"No, relax your hand. Little more, little more…Good, now slide your fingers forward, carefully- yes. There you go."

Kieran glared at the sticks in his hand. "It's insane," he grumbled, trying to click them together. After a few misses he got it. "_Insane_. An entire country stays alive by foraging for food with things the size of number two pencils. An entire civilization has been built on these things. Can you imagine it? They survived on little bits of food artistically arranged with sweet and sour sauce, and two sticks. The ingenuity of people astounds me."

Mordred neatly lifted a bit of rice up, raising an amused, challenging eyebrow. Kieran scowled, and did his best to repeat Mordred's feat, only to fail miserably.

"Here."

Looking up, he felt his cheeks heat up as Mordred motioned a delicate piece of pork balanced on some rice, all held up by those stupid chopsticks towards him. Figuring that he had nothing to lose, and that Mordred could very easily have knocked him out earlier if he so desired, Kieran leaned over the small table and let Mordred neatly deposit the food in his mouth. Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second before both looked away, blushing furiously.

/

Gwaine pushed the door open, tossing his keys on the table in the darkened half-hallway that opened into the kitchen. Shrugging off his coat, he let it collapse onto a hook that he'd personally set onto the wall (Merlin practiced the first-available-surface form of coat placement. Gwaine, whose coat was cashmere, had no intention of letting such a fate happen to his.). As he did so, he realized that he was steadily approaching sober and hating it. Too much adrenaline, he decided, and was about to collapse on the couch when he realized that there was a plethora of bottles, fruit rinds, and glasses sitting on the coffee table. _Ah, so Merlin had left the bedroom, at least._

And then he looked at the couch.

Groaning, he rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, but couldn't keep from smiling. Of course. Merlin never made life simple for him, and it appeared that he wasn't even going to grant him the chance to sleep on the couch tonight, thus breaking the most basic rules of fighting couples.

His love was snoring softly, wrapped up in about four blankets and Gwaine's favorite hoodie, with a bottle of vodka clutched in loose fingers. Cherry pits were stuck to the couch, along with half of an orange rind and what looked like a crust of bread. Gwaine reached down and gently pried away the vodka, setting it on the coffee table after examining it. There was only about a fourth left. This done, he unwrapped the cocoon that Merlin had stuck himself in, scooped him up off the couch and headed towards the bedroom. Merlin mumbled something and nuzzled his neck, thin fingers inching up to curl up on Gwaine's shirt collar. Gwaine smiled, only to wince at the pull on his lip. Inching the door open, he deposited Merlin on the bed. He immediately curled up in the sheets, forehead creasing worriedly as he muttered in his sleep. Gwaine reached down and gently ran his fingers through Merlin's hair. Merlin relaxed a bit, mumbling his name before drifting back into a deep sleep.

"Oh, you are not going to like life when you wake up tomorrow," he murmured before heading into the adjoining bathroom to shower.

/

By the time he reluctantly left the warmth of the shower, Merlin had successfully managed to tangle himself in the sheets and steal Gwaine's pillow, apparently trying to either smother himself or inhale the entire pillow. Gwaine shook his head, and tugged his pillow back, ignoring Merlin's faint whine of displeasure. Clambering into bed, he was utterly unsurprised when Merlin flailed his way over to him and began doing a very reasonable impersonation of an octopus. Gwaine chuckled, reaching up to gently ruffle his hair. Merlin made a soft purring noise, nuzzling against him with a happy smile.

"Lovely. You're a bipolar sleeper."

Thin, cold fingers meshed with Gwaine's, and the man sighed. He was _not_ looking forward to the morning but…

For now, he'd take what comfort he could have. Smiling, he wrapped his free arm around Merlin, and went to sleep.

/

"So…"

"Um… Yes. H-how was it?"

"Good! Good, yes, really good, I don't get Chinese food very often so, yeah, uh, very good. The dim sum was amazing."

"Oh! Yes, yes it was! I'm partial to Hong Shao Rou, myself, but...yes. Very good."

"So, uh… Why do you have a Chinese name?"

"Oh. I grew up in Shanghai."

"Really? That's incredible."

"No, not really. It wasn't a good place to live."

"It looks so pretty, though."

"Yeah, they don't really show you the bad part of town."

"Ohhh. I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have brought it up-"

"What- No, it's fine, really, I've… well, I've mostly put it behind me. You can ask me anything you want, really."

"…"

"…"

"…"

The two huddled under one painted silk umbrella as they walked down the street.

"…Mordred?"

"Mm?"

"Can…Can I tell you something?"

"Of course you can." The two stopped, and Mordred looked seriously into Kieran's eyes. "I'm not perfect, but I don't give up secrets, and I never would from you unless I had your permission."

"You mean that?"

"I swear it."

The two stared at each other, and Kieran said, very softly, "I want very, very much to kiss you right now. Two days ago I wouldn't have even have imagined that I would ever want to be seen with another man, but it's…it's like I've known you forever, and _God _I just want to kiss you so badly, and I don't care how sappy that sounds, it's the truth."

"What's stopping you?" Kieran's eyes widened, and Mordred smiled tenderly, reaching over to gently catch a raindrop that had landed on Kieran's cheek. "It's alright," he said quietly. "You don't have to tell me. Wait till you're comfortable."

Kieran nodded, and licked his lips pensively, eyebrows scrunching together in a way that made Mordred's inner female side squeal and want to cuddle him. Tentatively, the smaller man reached up, took Mordred's face in his hands, and stared intently into his eyes, searching for something.

"No more than this?" He asked, almost sternly, but there was an underlying current of terror. Mordred reached up with his free hand to cup one of Kieran's.

"Whatever you want, love."

The umbrella fell to the ground.

And so it was that they kissed for the first time, standing beside a silk umbrella with a few holes, on the wrong side of the tracks, with a bum in the nearest alley looking on and shaking his head, muttering "kids," under his breath all while the rain poured down like a cleansing agent straight from the heavens.

And unlike a million and one other people kissing that night, for them it was totally and utterly perfect.


	12. No Rest for the Wicked

**I don't own Merlin.**

**No Rest for the Wicked is by Cage the Elephant, and if I had my say, it would be Mordred's theme song. **

**/**

"Owwww…"

Merlin's fingers scrambled to find his pillow and pulled it over his head, whimpering in pain as his forehead began trying to split in half. His body felt like it was trying to rebel, and so far it was succeeding. Keening quietly, he attempted to bury himself in the bedsheets, only to discover that moving was, in fact, the wrong thing to do.

"Here," Gwaine's voice said softly, and Merlin blearily forced his eyes open, peeking out from under the pillow to see the fuzzy shapes of a glass and some pills. His hand snaked out to pluck them out of Gwaine's hand, and he forced himself to remove the pillow and push himself upright. Cradling the glass, he downed the pills with a grimace, and promptly wiggled his way over to cling to the blurry, reassuring bulk that was Gwaine as he climbed back into bed.

"Wha'wasit?" he mumbled, relaxing as cold, soothing hands began rubbing circles on his aching temples.

"The ones from the jar marked 'for use in extreme hangover emergencies'. Since you downed nearly 3/4ths of a bottle of vodka and apparently were having fun with some fruit, ha ha-"

"Bast'rd."

"You love me. Anyway, I thought it was probably the right thing to do."

Merlin nodded weakly and went back to trying to bury himself in Gwaine's chest.

"Ow, love, quit that. My sternum can only take so much, thanks."

"Head 'urts."

"So does mine, and I'd like for the rest of me not too."

"Why'rn't you all fuzzy headed and miserable?" Merlin mumbled, giving up his attempts at burrowing and contenting himself with being held. Gwaine kissed his forehead.

"Because, dear, I drink a lot more than you do, and happen to have a very high tolerance level."

Merlin growled, weakly punching Gwaine stomach. "Terr'ble man. Whiskey, beer, what else'd you have?"

"Well, I wanted some of Kilgarrah's brandy, but he only let me have whiskey. Oh, and I started off some of the vodka, but you got the rest."

"Ugh."

"That's right, babe."

"Call me that 'gain an' I swear I'll with'old sex for th'next five months."

"I love you too. Rest for a bit. I'm going to start breakfast and the tea almost done."

"…Breakfast? Tea? I don' e'en _like_ tea."

/

"This is ridiculous," Merlin said sternly. Gwaine glanced over from where he was attempting an experiment in bacon flattening to see Merlin lying on the now clean couch with teabags over his eyes. He swallowed a laugh. Merlin was still in his hoodie, and looked like a bobble head in reverse. The hoodie was at least three sizes too big.

"Yes, it kind of is. It'll help though. Shrinks the blood vessels under your eyes, thus decreasing the bags."

There was a grunt of displeasure, but Merlin went silent again. Gwaine returned to his flattening of the bacon (without success, sadly) and began work on the waffles. After a bit of creative swearing at their waffle iron- which was old and didn't like him much- he got it to open and began spooning batter in. It hissed slightly, and as soon as he put the top down the scent of Belgian Waffles began wafting luxuriously through the kitchen and into the living room.

_Five….four…three…two…_

"Waffles?" This time the word was plaintive, yet greedy. Merlin's head started to rise a bit, only to flop back down with a groan.

Gwaine rolled his eyes, winced at the pain as he did so, and smiled, only to wince again. He was beginning to remember why he hated split lips. "Of course. They'll be done in a bit."

At this precise moment in time, Merlin's phone rang from where it was sitting on the newly cleaned coffee table.

"_HELLS BELLS, Satan's coming to you-"_

A shriek echoed from where Merlin was laying on the couch, and the phone was promptly silenced with a brutal hit to the screen. Gwaine doubled over in both silent laughter and pain, clutching at his lip and head as he did so. It was Mordred's ring tone, and it was _loud_.

"This had better be good," Merlin growled, and Gwaine turned around to look at him in interest. Merlin returned to laying on the newly cleaned off couch, wincing as he did so and picking up his tea bags again.

Even from the kitchen, Gwaine could hear the sounds of a shrieking, ecstatic Mordred. He couldn't make out the words, as they were all babbled and high pitched, but he could tell that the man was excited.That was all he heard though, as Merlin promptly ended the call, rolled over, and began trying to bury himself in the couch. Gwaine just smiled, winced again, and returned to watching the waffle iron with a slightly blood-shot eye. "The painkillers working?" he called mildly.

"Unf-hugh."

"…That a yes or a no?"

Merlin's head reappeared from where it had been hiding in the cushions. "Yes."

"Good, good. What were they, by the way?"

Merlin rolled back over and readjusted the teabags. "Trust me," he mumbled. "You really don't want to know. Kilgarrah makes them."

"Ahhh."

Gwaine returned to attempting to flatten his bacon, just letting himself relax into the warmth and comfort that was _home_. While admittedly he knew that he was going to have to face the fact that they had fought, for the moment he would just enjoy their messed up, wonderful, oddball relationship.

Arms snaked around his waist, and he started as Merlin rested his chin on his shoulder.

"Love-"

"I'm sorry."

Gwaine's eyebrows lifted, and he turned his head a bit to look at Merlin. "Hmm?"

Merlin's eyes were closed, and he seemed to be struggling for words. "When…When Will called me, that last time- the phone, it just…broke off suddenly. And then there was everything that happened at his place, and his dad dying…I thought I was the reason he…he died. But I couldn't- I couldn't give up hope."

Gwaine carefully set down the spatula and turned to pull Merlin into a loose hug, kissing the top of his head as Merlin's head slumped onto his shoulder. "It's alright. Just…You don't still love him, right?"

"No," Merlin said softly. "Not any more. I have the dubious pleasure of loving you, and you alone, now."

Gwaine couldn't help but smile at that, and reached up to cradle Merlin's head for just a moment before gently detangling himself. "I'm sorry too," he said gently. "We've both got secrets, I know, and some of them are just too painful to talk about right now. Maybe one day we'll get around to having a huge tell-all, but that's clearly not going to be today." He leaned in and lightly kissed Merlin's forehead. "Now. Breakfast."

Merlin stared at him. "That's it?" he asked incredulously. "Just…that's all?"

Gwaine considered him, trying very hard not to smirk. "Well, if you're feeling up to it, we could have mind-blowingly great make up sex."

"…Then can we have breakfast in bed?"

"This is why I love you."

/

_Click._

"Arthur Pendragon."

"_Hi. I'm calling in sick."_

"What?! You can't do that!"

"_My contract says I can, and it's the second day that I've ever taken off, okay? Breathe."_

"But-"

"_Stop being such a prat and just tell Gwen to help you. Gwaine's calling in too, and there's no major fires that need putting out."_

"What happened?"

"…_We fought. It wasn't pretty."_

"He didn't hurt you, right?"

"…"

"I'll kill him."

"_No! Great good gods, no. He didn't hurt me…I…I hurt him._"

"…What?"

"_I punched him. Split his lip. And then proceeded to get myself stinking drunk."_

"Oh."

Silence.

"Take the day then. And tomorrow if you need to."

"_Thanks, Arthur._"

_Click_.

/

"Stress is a terrible thing," Merlin mumbled absently. Gwaine cracked open his eyes, looked around blearily, and then nodded weakly.

"Mmhmm."

"Really horrible."

"Mm." Gwaine rolled over and settled against Merlin, resting his head in the crook of Merlin's neck and inhaling deeply.

"Gwaine?"

"Ung?"

"Would you…trade?"

"Wha'? You? Nah. To good f'r me anyways, not a chance I'd try for something s'posedly better."

"I'm touched, really, but I was talking about secrets."

Gwaine lifted his head up to stare at Merlin for a moment, nodded shortly, and lowered himself back down. Reaching over, he took Merlin's hands and twined their fingers together, letting them settle in the precious little space between them. "What kind of secrets?"

"I don't know, just secrets that we just should tell. Just one?"

Gwaine considered this and nodded slowly. His brain, aware that it needed to do some work here, tried to piece itself back together from where it had been blown apart and focus. "Alright," he managed, resettling so that he was on his side, facing Merlin, who did the same. "You want to start?"

Merlin smiled wryly. "Well, I first met Freya when we were both in drag."

_That_ woke him up enough to make him pay attention. "You were in drag? Really?"

Merlin's smile became much more genuine and sneaky. "Oh yes. It was Carnival, in Venice. I was looking for a mark, she was out on the town, we ended up dancing, we both thought "_What the hell_" and took off to go surprise the other with our real gender, only to find out that, well, hey, we aren't the same! Shocker, I know, but, ah… things were already going. And they continued, with surprisingly good results."

"You slept with Freya and still have all your dangly bits attached?" Gwaine said incredulously. "I'm stunned, love, I really am."

Merlin went a delicate shade of red. "We were only together for a week, on account of the fact that she saw Nimue in a corset shop when we were in Milan, and the rest, as they say, was history."

"What was she doing in a corset shop, let alone Milan?"

Merlin went even redder. "We were completing my disguise. I make for a very flat-chested woman, and someone had seen my face in Venice."

"You don't say." Gwaine was aware that he was grinning like an absolute idiot, and had no intention of stopping. "I want pictures."

"Better yet, we still have all the stuff. Kilgarrah's a bit of a hoarder. I think all of it's in the attic somewhere," he mused, then shook his head. "Your turn."

Gwaine considered. "Well… I guess my greatest secret is that my father is part of the House of Lords."

Dead silence.

"Yeah, I thought you'd take it like that."

"_What?!_"

"It's a long story, and technically I should be considered a bastard- No, don't smirk at me like that- but he's a landed and titled and all that. A viscount, and no, I'm not going to tell you who because you'd go after him with a knife for leaving us when I was young. He also forced my mother to change our names so that we couldn't be considered possible heirs. He wasn't exactly the world's greatest dad."

"Good grief."

Silence again, and the two just stared at each other for a long moment.

"So. Breakfast?"

/

"I want to go see Will today," Merlin announced as he left the shower and wandered into the bedroom. Gwaine, who'd been contemplating the benefits of simply lounging in bed with his book for the rest of the day, looked guiltily over his reading glasses. The glasses had been a recent acquisition, and were the most hated object in the entirety of Gwaine's wardrobe. He swore that the second his eyes got too bad, he was getting contacts. Gwaine was many things, after all, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that vain was one of them.

Romantic was another, which was why he was reading Pride and Prejudice.

"You're sure?"

"I have the day off, and I may as well. There's no point in delaying it any longer." He began rooting around in the closet for a shirt. "Besides, Mordred's probably going to hire him if only to make the kid happy."

"I take it the date went well, then?"

"They kissed. And held hands. And that's all I got out of that message, you know how excitable he is."

"Mm."

Merlin extracted a plain blue tee out of the closet, scrutinized it, and pulled it on. "Hopefully he's awake when I get there, because otherwise this could go downhill very fast."

Gwaine made a noise of agreement, readjusting his glasses as Merlin turned. "You're sure you don't want to stay?"

"And risk having to shower again?" Merlin asked dryly. "I'll take my chances with Will. He's only likely to throw things at me."

/

There was a marvelously beautiful violin solo ringing through disturbingly quiet air of the ghetto as Merlin stepped out of the Fireflite. He leaned against the car, just absorbing the sound and trying to place it. It was a familiar tune- Ah, yes. Unchained Melody. Mordred was really outdoing himself today.

He headed into the building across from Mordred's after looking up to ensure that Mordred was indeed still playing on the fire escape, and began the ascent up the stairs.

/

"You're sure you'll be fine on your own for lunch?"

Will yawned, stretching as Kieran hurriedly threw on his uniform. "Yes, yes. I'll be fine. Money's on the table. Half to rent, half to food."

He watched as Kieran glanced over, and winced at the pitiful pile. It hadn't been a good night, with the rain and general lack of people out and about. Normally Stark Street was good for politician hunting, but there had been something going on downtown, so all there had been were aides and a few secretaries with way too many kinks. He lowered himself back onto the couch and resisted the urge to give in to misery. It didn't help that Kieran was still walking on air from one little kiss. Will figured that this guy had to have the world's best kissing skills to have someone dancing around the studio singing "I Feel Pretty".

"I'll be back at about three, unless I've managed to forget something. Cot's yours."

"Thanks, no, but I'd rather have the couch. It's bigger. Now, don't you have some cupcakes to go frost or something?"

Kieran grinned giddily and floated out the door. Will shook his head and dropped his head back onto the couch arm, and wondered if now would be a good time to go and see if he could make a bit more. It was early, granted, but maybe if he freshened up a bit and headed over to Faulkner Street he could catch a few of the stressed out businessmen. One of his friends, Gill, had a pretty decent clientele over there and might be willing to share. Supposedly he'd caught the eye of a CEO's aide the other day, and the aide was inclined to threesomes, so-

There was a knock on the door.

Will rolled his eyes, groaning as he got up. Unlocking the door, he pulled it open saying, "You've really got to remember stuff…"

And trailed off when he saw a set of blue eyes he'd never expected to see again.

The two stared at each other, Merlin's face shock white, Will's eyes wide, for nearly five seconds.

Then Will tried to slam the door. Merlin immediately shoved a foot in, and followed it with a leg, and then the rest of himself.

"Will-"

"Y-you can't be here." Will scrambled backwards, hands scrabbling for something to throw.

"Will, please calm down-" Merlin ducked as a very well tossed frying pan headed his way. "I just want to talk."

"He'll kill you!"

"No, he won't- Holy shit,_ Will,_ that nearly hit me!" One of Kieran's disturbingly sharp paring knives quivered in the door.

"OUT!"

Merlin tackled him.

Will thrashed, trying desperately to get away. "He'll- Kill- You!"

A startlingly strong hand clamped over his mouth. Will screamed, not that it did much good. Merlin promptly pinned his legs down and said, very quietly, "Kanen can't so much as move a finger, Will. He's in a coma, has been for the past seven years."

Will stared at him, wide eyed, and went very still. Merlin slowly removed his hand, waiting to make certain Will wasn't going to start screaming again, and stood back up.

"_Now_ will you talk to me like a civilized human being?"

"Since when have I ever been civilized?" Will mumbled, half dazed, and let himself be pulled up.

/

There was a pot of green tea sitting between them, and Will's cup was getting steadily colder as his jaw dropped a little farther.

"…So we moved from Milan back here, and then after a few years I had a huge fight with Kilgarrah- the dragon guy- and left, going _back_ to Arthur. And we had a fling, and then someone put a price on my head and sent Gwaine to kill me. Unfortunately, Gwaine then had a price put on _his_ head, we fell in love, there was insanity… and somehow we ended up living together."

Merlin daintily sipped his tea, and Will's head thunked onto the island, where it firmly remained as the gears whirred in his mind, trying to process everything.

"You've been _killing _people. For a living."

"In my defense, it was basically only for a while, and they really were people who needed removing. Slavers, mostly, and a few mafioso's who were trying to take down small countries. And, before you ask, I did feel bad, and still do when things are…necessary. Life is life, after all. But it's so damn empowering, Will, you have no idea. The knowledge that you're the thing between death and life…I don't know how to describe it. Anyway, after all that, I became Arthur's secretary/bodyguard."

More dainty tea-sipping.

Will pulled himself back upright and stared in mortified awe at his old friend. "_And_ you have a job for me? I'm not going to be maiming hordes of bad-assed mafioso's who've been imbibing on alcohol, am I?"

"I love how you're just taking this all in stride, have I mentioned that? And no to the maiming bit. You'd be carrying memo's back and forth, but the pay is ridiculously good. You'd probably be able to get a place farther up town and still afford groceries and stuff. You_ do _have to be able to shoot a gun reasonably well. Can you do that?"

"Geez, Merlin, you have no faith in me, do you?" Will dramatically faux-swooned, only to sit back up, grinning. "Have you forgotten the not so far off years where I could hit every bottle off of the fence with my dad's Glock?"

Merlin grinned back, eyes crinkling in a way Will had forgotten he'd missed. "…Good times, and point taken. I'm sure Mordred will be delighted. So, what've you been up to, and who do I need to go threaten with dismemberment if they touch you again?" Merlin began rummaging in the nearby biscuits that Kieran had left, pulling one out and sampling it.

"Mor- Say what?! Mordred, as in plays the violin and is romantically interested in my roommate Mordred?" Will demanded, suddenly much more concerned about his new life plans and how Kieran's love interest was going to fit into them.

"Well, yes- Wait, why would I be threatening hi-"

"No, not that! He'd be my boss?"

"Try and keep up, Will."

"I hate you," Will muttered, but couldn't help but grin as Merlin pressed a hand to his chest, looking touched.

"Aww, I love you too, Will."

"…Shut up and pass the biscuits, wouldya?"

Merlin passed them.

"So," he asked a bit hesitantly, "What happened?"

Will focused his attention on rummaging through the biscuts, and said shortly, "I ran."

"Ran? From what?"

"Kanen. He came back- caught me right as I said…" Will swallowed hard, and Merlin just nodded. _I love you_. Those words held far too much pain to talk about now, and now they no longer held true. Yes, they had been in love. Yes, it more than likely would have lasted for a very long time, maybe even long enough to see them happily married. No, it was not true now, not in the original context.

They sat silently for a while, the tea becoming even colder.

"I just ran. I could hear him tossing over the house and my dad getting up and trying to go after him, but I didn't go back. I found out…" _he had died_ hung still in the air. Will swallowed hard again and continued, "I found out a week later- I'd been hiding in the alleys and hoping no one would get me."

Merlin reached over and gently squeezed his hand. Will smiled weakly. "After that… I never went back. Didn't graduate, just scrounged what I could out of dumpsters and stuff and pawned it to stay alive. I lived at a shelter for a bit- found this older guy who was so miserably lonely and missing his son, and just sort of attached myself to him. He was really nice. He had PTSD, and me being around helped calm that."

"What happened to him?"

Will's smile crooked miserably. "AIDS happened," he said quietly. "I watched him slowly deteriorate, but I made sure that he was pretty damn happy when he died. The last thing he said was that I wasn't allowed to cry for him, as no man was worth my tears."

"I've heard someone say very similar."

"Yeah, well, I cried anyway. He wasn't gay, you know, which was kind of funny. He picked it up from someone he'd helped save from a beating." Will shook his head. "That night he died was the first night I went out and walked with a goal in mind. I wanted him to have a proper grave, and he wasn't going to get it with me sitting there, so I wandered around for a bit, and when some ski-jump nosed pretty boy snagged me and said he'd get me a sandwich, I didn't fight it. I just went with it, let him do what he wanted, got the money and took off. I threw up for hours after, I felt so sick and filthy, but I got him a grave and made sure he was buried in uniform, so it was worth it."

"And you just kept at it?"

"No rest for the wicked, my friend. And no room in the inn lest you've got enough money to grease the owner's palm."

"Ah," Merlin murmured, nodding in understanding. The two looked at each other for a long time, and then Merlin flung his arms around Will. "I've missed you."

Will hugged him back, and buried his face in his shoulder, trying very hard not to cry.

/

Nearly two hours of chatting later, Will's fatigue finally caught up to him, and Merlin took off to go back home, feeling better and happier than he had in years. Finding out all that had happened, all the bad and the good, had been therapeutic for the both of them. That Will had also promised to talk to Mordred about a job had also been a mixed load off of Merlin's back. First, he could now ensure that his friend would never have to stand on a corner in the rain again, and second, he now would have another Page so Mordred could stop badgering him about calling Sanchez and Remington back to the city. He wanted the newlyweds to get on with their lives, not stay here, though he badly missed them. Sanchez was clever and charming, and Remington had been very sweet.

Parking the Fireflite in its regular space, he locked the doors and headed for the stairs. A bit of a run would do him good. Kilgarrah had been threatening to take him and lock him in the dojo until he was back in proper fighting shape, something that Merlin desperately did not want to have that happen. Kilgarrah was a brutal taskmaster with no sense of mercy whatsoever, and Merlin was perfectly content with staying out of the dojo for a while. Technically, he should be working out every day, or at least going through his kata's, but…ah, what the hell, he was allowed to relax a bit, right?

Reaching his floor, he entered the hallway in deep thought over how he would ensure that Mordred would give Will the job, and wandered down to his door. Pulling out his keys, he stuck them in the door and unlocked it, pushing it open.

His hand fell limp, and his eyes widened.

The floor in front of him was stained with bloody footprints.

The door creaked ominously, and Merlin slowly stepped inside. Pressing a panel beside the door, it popped out to reveal a small drawer with a Smith and Wesson .36 in it. Picking it up, he checked coolly that it was loaded and cocked it quickly. Slipping off his shoes, he padded into the kitchen, surveying the floor closely. The footprints turned through the living room and toward the bedroom. Merlin's blood chilled when he saw that the door was hanging at a strange angle. Slipping closer, he listened, ears straining in the silence. There was the sound of harsh breathing, and a faint whimper of pain.

Peeking around the edge of the door, he stared in shock at what appeared. Gwaine leaned exhaustedly against the end board of the bed, a gun loosely trained on a limp figure with sliced up feet in an orange jumpsuit laying on the floor, unmoving.

"Gwaine?"

Without moving his eyes from the body, Gwaine said, "It's Lance, Merlin. I was in the bathroom, came out and here he was. I think he panicked- he started babbling about monsters and lunged at me. I knocked him out."

"With what, a frying pan?" The body wasn't even so much as twitching, and didn't even look like he was breathing.

Merlin cautiously approached the prostrate man, and toed him over. It was indeed Lance, with a few inches of beard and a pool of blood dripping from the area of his stomach. "You shot him?" he demanded, but Gwaine shook his head, startled.

Sighing, Merlin set the gun on the bed and pulled out his phone.

"Hey, Kilgarrah…Yeah, I need your facilities."

/

"He's got three stab wounds in the back of his torso, a bullet in his hip, a dislocated shoulder, and his feet have been cut to ribbons," Kilgarrah intoned from behind his mask. The three wore the white surgery coats, and Lance lay all but naked on his side on a steel slab that was seriously reminding Gwaine of a coroners table. The room was mild, and one of a series of basements under Kilgarrah's dock-side building. It also housed a quietly humming, disturbingly large square freezer in the corner, and Gwaine was getting more freaked out by the minute. Any minute now he fully expected Kilgarrah to whip out a chain saw and start laughing hysterically. "His wrists have rope burn _and_ what looks like chafing from too-tight cuffs. Interestingly enough, he has no marks on his face or hands. Someone wanted him to keep from showing very many obvious signs of injury."

Kilgarrah carefully rolled Lance onto his side and pointed at a series of nasty looking bruises. "And here, children, is where someone jumped on him from behind. It was probably in an attempt to break his back, but the person was far too light."

"A Dorocha?" Gwaine suggested, thinking of how thin Christian was. Even though he was steadily packing on the pounds- Kilgarrah spoiled him to no end- he was still thin and delicate, though it was possible that he simply worked it all off. The man never stopped moving.

"Possible," Kilgarrah said slowly, "but doubtful. The Dorocha are trained for quick disposal. They don't play with prey like this. They stab straight through the heart and take off. And it certainly doesn't explain how he got into your apartment in the first place, let alone out of jail."

"The Boss-" Merlin started.

"Would not waste his time with someone so unimportant to his plans. Mr. Allot here had served his purpose," Kilgarrah said simply, picking up a pair of long tweezers. "Merlin, fetch the bottle out of the freezer?"

Merlin nodded, going over to the freezer. Gwaine ignored it, though the hair on the back of his neck stood up and saluted when it creaked open.

"Ugh, 'Garrah, why haven't you gotten rid of that? It's going green!"

Gwaine's stomach churned, as Merlin has said this when the tweezers had slipped into the bullet wound. What was in there? Arms? Legs? Livers?

"I know, the beef goes bad so quickly," Kilgarrah said absently, pushing the tweezers around and ignoring Lance's whimpers. "I've no idea why. Is the bacon still good?"

"Yeah." There was a thump as the lid closed, and Merlin returned with a syringe and a small bottle. "This one?"

"Very good. There should be a bit of rubber in the cupboard over there to get his veins to show up." With a triumphant grin under the mask, Kilgarrah removed a scrunched up bullet. "Got it."

Gwaine fainted.

/

"This is really not the way you should be trying to impress me," Kilgarrah said dryly when Gwaine had regained enough of his dignity to crawl back into consciousness. He hung his head.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, go and get me a lighter and a knife. We have to cauterize half of these wounds. Think you can manage that?" KIlgarrah's tone was mocking. Gwaine gritted his teeth and rose, noticing that he was in the hall.

"I'll do it."

"Good. I would have been very put out- and would have put _you_ out- if you'd refused. Now, go. Knives are upstairs in the kitchen."

"Yessir."

/

"So, I take it that your relationship is going smoothly?"

Merlin looked up from where he was binding up Lance's feet. "You choose now to talk about my relationship?"

"Gwaine is not here, and I hardly think Mr. Allot will be up to commenting."

Merlin could have cursed the man, but that tended to get him badly beaten over the head with large sticks and other objects, and he did _not_ like the welts that he got from such things. "It's good," he said weakly.

"Do not lie to me, Merlin Ambrosius Laird-Emrys."

Merlin winced. "Last I checked I'd dropped my middle name and I sure don't use Kanen's," he muttered. Before he could dodge, the tweezers darted over and yanked out a solitary hair. Kilgarrah waved it threateningly at him. "Ow! Alright, alright, I lost it, okay? I'm not proud of it, I'm damn ashamed and I hate myself on occasions and wonder why he's with me when he could have so many other, better people! And sometimes I can't sleep because I _know_ it's too good to be true because the Boss will come after me at some point and Gwaine'll get hurt, and 25 generations of Dragonlords have had really messed up families and I'm just the next in a very long line, which brings me to the fact that on top of everything else, including taking care of the prat, I have a duty to have a child and I'm _gay,_ 'Garrah, so how's that supposed to work, and what the hell do I do if I don't have a child?! I don't want to be responsible for bringing about the end of a very long line of people, especially when there's another Dragon in training, and you can tell Gwen and Arthur aren't going to be slow about consummating their marriage, which, by the way, should be in August of next year if I'm any kind of secretary."

Kilgarrah considered him with some amusement over his mask. "Well. It's reassuring to know that you're a well-balanced individual."

"Shut up."

Kilgarrah chuckled, and returned to his work. "And with Gwaine?"

"What?" The look Kilgarrah gave him made his face go the color of a ripe tomato. "GARRAH! You don't _ask_ about things like that! I thought you didn't want to know!"

"I don't. I just want to make certain things are going well."

Merlin glowered at Lance's feet. "They're going fine."

"That's why you punched him?"

Merlin went very, very still, before his hands began to shake and the room blurred a tad. Strong hands, gloved, caught and steadied him.

"Breathe, Merlin, it's alright."

"No," he mumbled, and tears blurred his eyes, "It's not alright."

/

Gwaine listened to them talk from in the hallway, and decided that he could take a bit longer with the knife and lighter.

/

Lance woke up to a fuzzy world of dull pain and surprising warmth. Fingers twitching weakly, he fumbled about, amazed. A blanket. There was a blanket, and a relatively soft bed, and he was _alive_.

"Lance?"

Lance turned his head slightly, blinking weakly as an unfamiliar face swam in and out of focus. He tried to say "Who are you?" but it came out "Urgharoo?"

"Ah, so you can still talk. Good, good." The face disappeared for a moment before reentering his line of sight. "Are you thirsty?"

Well yes, now that the face mentioned it, he was. He attempted a nod. His head lolled about, but the face got the picture and beautiful, wonderful, clean water was pressed to his lips. He drank greedily, and whined slightly when the water was pulled away.

"Mustn't get you sick, Mr. Allot. " The voice was crisp and polite, and seemed on the older end. "Now, you get some rest, and then there are some people who'd like to talk to you…"

There was a faint hint of pain on his arm, and Lance drifted back into the darkness of blessed unconsciousness.

/

The next time he woke up, Lance felt better than he had in months. He stared blankly at the brown ceiling, and wondered where he was.

A faint prick of something sharp against his neck warned him against turning his head.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Allot." The voice from before echoed in the room, and Lance watched curiously as a tall, lithe older man, with silver hair that cascaded freely down to his waist entered his field of vision and sat down. "Now, before we get to the painful bits, I'd like to talk to you about how you're feeling."

The man reached over and gently removed a strange thing that had two knives pointed in. It must have been what was poking his neck.

"Now. Let's go through it, shall we?"

They ran through a basic checklist of "Does this hurt? Or this? How about here? Is your stomach hurting? How about your hip?" Lance gave short, simple answers, feeling sore and sick and utterly baffled. He was getting the distinct feeling that he'd jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Once the man seemed satisfied with him, he nodded, pleased. "Right then. You rest for a bit and then you'll have words with some people who will be _delighted_ to see you."

And with that ominous sentence, there was a blur of movement and the world went black again.

/

The third time he woke, Lance found himself in a soft, cushioned chair in a small living space. Blinking in confusion, he flicked his eyes around carefully, so as not to once again be injured by the strange knife device. The room opened across a bar to a kitchen, where, sitting on a stool, was a thin young man devouring a plate of hotdish, and the man from before was fussing with something on a stove. The place was small, and the color palate was made up of muted browns and greens. A solitary coffee table sat neatly in front of a couch, and there was a faint sight of a bookshelf in the corner.

A hand firmly settled on his shoulder and Lance went very still.

"'Ello, Lance…"

He cringed as a gun barrel was pressed to his head, and Merlin came into view, smiling very coldly.

"Miss me?"

Lance didn't move, just watched as Merlin set a long fillet knife on the coffee table and sat on the couch.

"Now, you are going to answer some questions, or you will leave here in very bad shape. _Comprendes?_"

"_Comprendes_," Lance whispered in reply. His mouth had gone very dry.

Merlin smiled like a shark, and nodded to the person holding the gun. It was removed, and Lance watched, startled, as Gwaine came around the back of the chair to come and sit beside Merlin. The gun in his hands was a snub-barreled little thing that looked more menacing than a sub-machine gun.

"How did you end up in my apartment?"

Lance found himself answering before his brain even fully considered the question. "I was being hunted. Didn't have any time, had to run, remembered where you were, thought I'd plead for clemency."

"Hunted? By whom?"

"Boss and his Dogs. Not the Dorocha. New ones, nasty ones. Bigger, slower, stronger- the Dorocha on steroids."

"How did you get out of prison?"

"Removed. Boss has too many friends in too many places. I was going to just disappear, buried out in the woods somewhere, probably."

Merlin considered this, and Gwaine rolled the gun in his hands. Lance wanted to swallow, but there was nothing _to _swallow.

"Why?" Merlin asked finally. "Why you? What was your motivation to help the Boss?"

Lance wanted to wince. He should have seen that one coming. "He has my sister," he admitted quietly. "She got in too deep with his sharks, and he took her. He took her money, her things, all of it, and he was going to take it out of _her_, so I went and begged for her life. She lived- she's trapped in his place until I could find a way to work off her debt. And then he talked to the Cailleach, and _she_ found out every dirty little secret I'd ever had in my life, so I had no choice anymore."

"And that's why you went berserk and took off with Gwen?"

Lance's mouth pursed. Ah. That question. "I minored in acting."

"So, you freaking everyone out, drawing a gun, and attacking the building was an _act_? Forgive me if I don't believe you." That was Gwaine, and Merlin nodded in agreement.

"We had a deal. I took the girl, I took the file, I got out. She would go with me to the Caymans, where she would miraculously escape, and then I would vanish into thin air. My sister's debt would be paid off, and I'd be allowed to live, and the Boss would forget my secrets. But things went wrong."

The two looked at each other and then over at the man in the kitchen. The man paused, considered for a moment, and looked over at Lance.

Golden eyes slammed into his, mentally stripping him to the bone. It was like being forced to strip, clothing and thoughts stripped away to expose the shivering, terrified flesh beneath. Those eyes saw _everything_, reaching in and touching the darkest of places. Lance shuddered as they searched him, unable to look away. He was getting the feeling that the man wasn't totally human, and that was just as terrifying.

Finally, the man blinked and Lance was released. He shuddered, looking down at his knees.

"He speaks the truth, much as I hate to admit it."

Merlin made a growling noise, but sighed. "Right then. All of that still doesn't explain where you were before you were in my apartment."

"The Boss's place. He has a huge garden thing that he hunts people in. They got me to his place, tied me up and banged me up a bit, and sent me out there to run from the Dogs and the Boss. I got over the walls, and ran."

_How to explain the terror…the fear…the overwhelming realization that you're going to die? Running through woods barefoot, people coming after you with all the lust of killers on drugs, fierce teeth gnashing and fingers that didn't remember what a fork was clutching knives and slicing at the back, and a man on a horse with a gun in his hand, taking aim and blowing a horn like you were a damn fox, not a person with a family, and people you love, and terror coursing through your veins. Screaming as a body slams onto you, feet first, trying to break your back and three knives shearing through soft orange cloth, yanking your arm out of its socket, screaming as you get them off and get a bullet to your hip, running, running, running, and the wall. A wall topped by glass, but with enough hand and foot holds to get you up and over and escaping into the baffling light of day. It's not even night time, which makes it worse, because night would mean dark things, but he does it during the day, and it's actually a bright, sunshine-filled day. So you run, and run, and run, taking back alleys and avoiding the open streets. And it is Hell, even when you find the key on top of the door and let yourself in, one handed, and hear the shower running and desperately need a friend._

He didn't realize that he'd said all of that out loud until Merlin says softly, "I think you need a bit more rest."

_And the world goes black_.


	13. Bigger Than Love

**I don't own Merlin.**

**Bigger than Love is by My Favorite Highway. **

**/**

Merlin took a deep breath and scrubbed his forehead. Gwaine gently rubbed his back, hands going in soothing circles.

"This," he muttered, "Was supposed to be a nice, quiet day off. We were going to just relax, and enjoy the time we had together, and make up, and there would be none of this ridiculous nonsense about Lance and The Boss and people getting hurt. We were supposed to be a nice, average gay couple."

"I like your pipe dreams. They sound pretty."

Merlin dug his elbow into Gwaine's side, glowering. "Shut it." Rising, he stretched uncomfortably, looking over at where Lancelot sat dead to the world in the chair. Leaning down, he gently took the pulse. Dilaudid was an excellent painkiller, and in the proper doses, it would knock someone unconscious quite quickly. Lancelot was no exception by any stretch of the imagination, especially with his body as weak as it was. Actually, he had fallen asleep fairly fast, and with the most minimal dose required. Christian was fast and precise with the syringe, something that made Kilgarrah mutter angrily and bang around pots and pans with more force than necessary. With his skin filling out, track marks could be spotted on Christian's arms, and Kilgarrah had supposedly found them on the other Dorocha's arms.

Christian had returned to his lunch, and was eating his hotdish with gusto. He spotted Merlin looking at him and grinned happily, before reaching down to grab some more grapes off of the plate sitting on the counter. Kilgarrah angrily poked at something frying in a pan, mumbling angry Chinese proverbs at it with venom.

Merlin shook his head. "Right then. Home?"

"Home," Gwaine sighed. "I'm going to have a devil of a time getting that blood off the floor."

"Good thing Arthur owns the building," Merlin yawned. "He can worry about it, and take it out of my pay-check, I suppose."

"…You know, maybe we should just get new flooring! Oak, or maple, or cherry, or-"

"Oh, shut up you."

/

Will shrugged on his jacket and stepped into his shoes. Touching up the faint hint of eyeliner at the very edges of his eyes, he was about to head out when Kieran floated back in, still grinning like an idiot. Will rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling. It was nice to see the younger man smiling.

"Have a good day, then?"

"Oh, yes," Kieran sighed happily. "Ver' good. We've go' a buncha prawleens fo' afte' dinner, an' some gumbo t'start with."

"Was today Nawlin's day or something?" Will grinned at the way he was speaking. Whenever the chef's were switched around (Supposedly to help everyone learn different styles, but Will firmly believed it was so they wouldn't strangle their students) and the chef from New Orleans came in, Kieran's tenor voice, with its slight Irish lilt, became a rumbling drawl of strung together words in an extremely bad faux-Southern accent. They called the chef the "Nawlin's man" thanks to his heavy accent.

Kieran grinned. "Chef says that we should learn all kine's o' cookin', and tha' includes Nawlin's style gumbo." He set a huge Tupperware container on the island. "There."

"Long as none of that has eyes still, I'm fine."

"Nah. It's chicken." Kieran pried the lid off, and Will's stomach grumbled unhappily. He glanced over as Will hovered nearby, torn. "You stayin' fo' dinner?"

Will's watch beeped, and he swore softly as he glanced at it. 7:30. "No time," he said apologetically. "Save some?"

"When 'bout's'll you be back?"

"One, hopefully. And tomorrow, we are going to have a talk about your keeping things from me." Kieran blanched. "That's right, Merlin dropped by. But we'll talk about that later, alright?" He waved as he slipped out the door and headed down the rickety stairs; only people with a death wish took the temperamental elevator. Walking out of the building, he began sauntering his way to his normal spot, running over who was due tonight. He'd been doing this long enough he had a set of regulars with a set schedule, and even if he _had_ a job, it couldn't hurt to keep up a side business, right? Besides, it'd had been 7 years now, so long it'd be odd not too. Tonight there was Mr. Wilding, the mayor's assistant at 8, and then he was free to try his hand at catching some passerby until 11, when the Benz that carried his latest acquisition, Mr. Jerome Van Veldt, a prominent physician, appeared and they moved off to the park. He smirked slightly at that. Mr. Van Veldt was a fastidiously clean man with anything but clean preferences.

His 8'o clock came and went (_Haha, very humorous, NOT_, he thought as he violently scrubbed off in a gym shower that the owner let him use in exchange for chess lessons on Sundays) and he found himself sitting comfortably on a bench on the edge of a street, craving a cigarette for the first time in five years and watching as people wandered or drove past.

As dusk fell people disappeared from the streets, and the other members of the world's oldest profession took their place.

A few of the others who regularly walked that street came up and exchanged gossip for a bit before wandering off to their respective places. Will bummed a cigarette off of Doreen, which, admittedly, was not exactly the sexiest name for a 'ho, but worked for the five foot ten inch dominatrix, and lit up, reclining on his bench and wondering how exactly working for his roommate's boyfriend (there was no point in calling him anything else, never mind the two had only been on one date) would be.

"Erm…"

Will glanced over, raising an eyebrow at the person he saw there.

"Y'need summat?" Will drawled, tapping the ash off the end of the cigarette, eyeing him up. A strawberry blonde guy, almost a red-head, the man was on the younger side, maybe 25 or a bit less. He had bright blue eyes that looked hesitant and worried, and seemed very shy. He was what Will thought of solid, with sleek muscles hiding under a loose green three-quarter sleeved shirt and black jeans that were filled out nicely, and well worn in. His skin was on the pale side, a delicate white that looked like it would badly burn, and there was a hint of black under his eyes from lack of sleep.

He shifted awkwardly. "Well, I, uh…The tall guy over there said I should talk to you." He pointed at James, an enormous black man, who gave a lazy finger wave when he saw Will glance over.

"Well, if you're looking for a whore, you're looking for me, love." Will let smoke trickle from between his teeth as he grinned.

The man blinked, high cheekbones going brilliant red. "Um, kinda, but... I was actually going to ask…do you mind sandwiches?"

Now it was Will's turn to stare. "What?"

"Dinner?" He sounded almost pleading.

The cigarette dropped from limp fingers. Will stared in dumbfounded amazement at the guy, who looked extremely uncomfortable. Gathering his wits, he stood, grinning lazily. "Well, if you're paying, I am _more_ than happy to accompany you, darling. Name's Will, and you have the almighty honor of being the first person ever- and I do mean ever, love- to take me on a date. Sex'll still cost you, though. That's how this sort of thing works, after all, and I've gotta be back here by 10:45."

To his great surprise, a shy smile appeared on the oddball's face. "Geraint Chase, but I go by my last name. Shall we go, then?"

/

"I'm telling you, they thought they were poison," Chase insisted, and Will rolled his eyes. "I'm serious."

"And I, darling, do _not_ believe you. You're drunk." Will surveyed the bag his sandwich was in with wary interest.

Chase snorted. "I haven't even touched alcohol since I was 22, thanks, nor have I tonight as you well know." He looked around absently at the stores surrounding them, and Will was forced to pull him out of the way of a fast-pedaling biker. "Thanks," he managed, pressed up against Will. He moved to pull back, but Will lazily slid an arm around his waist, keeping him close. There was a bit of a bite in the air, and Chase was far too thin to be wandering around without a jacket. He also wasn't complaining, and nestled closer. "And I'm serious," he muttered, but was smiling slightly, head resting on Wills. He was ridiculously tall, topping Will's meager five feet and seven inches at six feet and four inches.

"And I am not ever going to believe that someone thought tomatoes were poisonous, babe. They're just too tasty, and even a dropout like me likes 'em."

After a stop by a tiny little Romanian sandwich shop, they'd ended up just wandering the streets, striding along, and arguing, teasing, and generally getting to know each other. Once Chase had gotten over his shyness, the two had gotten along like a house on fire. Will rather liked the guy. He was quiet, sweet, knew a good sandwich shop, and, well…he was nice. Stubborn, but nice, and Will liked that combination. He also rather liked that Chase let him take the lead, rather than being demanding, like most. He was also ridiculously cuddly, apparently, as he was nestling against Will, and Will was enjoying it, for once, and he didn't give a damn about the looks that they were getting, because it felt nice to be wanted in a way that didn't feel disgusting against his skin, and _dammit_ his internal monologues were getting mushy! The hell was this? He'd best cut this a bit shorter, lest he wind up attached to this guy.

"You want to go somewhere?"

"Mm?" Chase looked down, wide blue eyes much calmer than before. Will made a face at the height difference.

"You're so damn _tall_, love. Anyway." He lifted an eyebrow archly. "Shall we?"

"Oh. Erm…"

"Yes or no will do, darling."

"…Yes?"

Will grinned. "You're so cute when you blush."

/

They ended up in a relatively decent motel that Will had used a few times before, and went up to room 19 with no troubles. Chase was getting considerably more skittish, which Will had expected, but seemed to have steeled himself for what they would be doing. Will tried to keep him relaxed and talking, trying to get a feel for what he was looking for. Chase was obviously not experienced in the whoring department, but there was no telling what he'd be like in the bedroom. Some of the most timid people ended up being absolute monsters once they were alone.

Will unlocked the door, pushing it open and heading in. Chase followed, eyes flicking around and absorbing at an almost military speed, and Will wondered absently what the man did. He was highly alert all the time, but the biker had nearly gotten him earlier, so probably not military, merely mild paranoia, perhaps? The room was simple: bed, bathroom, battered looking armchair, bedside table with a clock and lamp on it. The walls were papered with a dated design, and there wasn't even a TV in the room. The management knew what their motel was often used for, and understood that people didn't spend a whole lot of time here.

Will shrugged his jacket off and tossed it with a practiced move onto the chair. "I'm going to check the facilities here," he called over his shoulder. "Make yourself at home."

The bathroom was a bit on the nasty side. The toilet was a pink color, the sink matching and equally unnervingly pink. The shower was scum covered, the plexi-glass door and its metal edging a bit stained. He surveyed it, and then nodded absently. It'd be a good enough place to clean up in after, though he was a bit leery of the toilet. He'd escaped from getting STD's by some strange stroke of luck, and had no intention of being felled by some strange disease lurking in a pink bathroom. Walking back out, he noticed Chase had moved to sit at the end of the bed and was fiddling with the bottom of his shirt, his eyes looking haunted.

"Hey… You alright?"

"I…" Chase looked up, swallowing hard. "There's something I need to explain."

Will dropped onto the bed beside him. "I'm all ears, love."

Chase lowered his head, clasping his hands together. He seemed to contemplate them for a minute, and then said almost absently, "I'm a virgin."

Will froze. "Beg pardon?"

"I'm a virgin."

"…And you're how old?"

"Twenty seven."

"Twenty sev- How? Have you _looked_ in a mirror lately? How on _Earth_ has someone not gone after you? Explain, please, before I lose my faith in humanity."

Chase smiled faintly, and then pulled off his shirt. Will sucked in some air, eyes going wide.

Besides being very nicely toned, Chase's entire upper body was patched in old burn scars. They were flattened and smoothed out a bit by now, but still mottled in color, and coated a great deal of skin.

"Ohhh." Will reached out, and very gently touched the shoulder closest to him, eyes wide. Chase's head snapped around, eyes equally wide and slightly stunned, and it occurred to Will that this was probably the first time in a very long time that someone had willingly touched the scarring. Almost as soon as their eyes met, Chase's eyes fell back to his hands again.

"What happened?" Will asked softly, running his fingers over the network of raised skin, fascinated by the bumps and ridges.

"I ran into a burning building to save someone. I was nine, and he was trapped and the fire department hadn't shown up yet… I got him out, but got burned up really bad." His hands tightened, knuckles going white. "It was a long time before I started healing. They didn't think I'd make it for a very long time- I was on life support. They wanted to just end it, but my mom made them keep me alive. She died the next year, and they nearly lost me again. I just… gave up. I didn't want to live. I tried to end it twice. Sat there and thought about swallowing most of my pain meds, or lighting myself back on fire…finish the job, I guess… but I never did it. I lived."

Will stared at him, and then very gently reached out to cup Chase's face in his hands. Chase nervously looked over, and Will leaned in, kissing him slow, and soft, and with as much sympathy and adoration he could put into it. Chase sat stiff for a moment, obviously stunned, then slowly began to reciprocate, tentative and still rather fearful.

When they finally pulled apart, Will whispered, "People thought it was ugly, didn't they?"

Chase nodded, his eyes tearing slightly. "The first…said I was hideous. Second asked why I was alive, why I hadn't gone through with it. Third…third just laughed and asked why anyone would keep the scars. Truth is that my legs are too scarred up as well for there to be enough skin for grafting anything but my forearms…" He smiled slightly as Will gently ran a hand through his hair. "So yeah… this is why."

"Take it from one who knows, darling, they were bastards who never deserved you," Will said conversationally. "I've seen ugly men, Chase. I've slept with many of them. There are people who'll spit on you and gloat, people who want me to do terrible, terrible things to them, that'll piss on me, scream at me, cut me, even try and burn me when the time arises, people who'll grab my throat and watch as I gasp for air while they get their rocks off on just my expression and terror. _You,_ though… you are arguably one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen in my life."

Chase stared at him, wide eyed, and said hoarsely, "Thank you."

Will smiled, and kissed him again.

This time, when they pulled away, Chase whispered, "Take me?"

And Will just nodded, and pushed him down.

/

11 o' clock came and went without Will disentangling himself from Chase who clung to him like a limpet, head resting right over his heart, broad shoulders now relaxed. Will had no intention of getting up any time to soon. He gently ran his fingers over the scars, and worked his way down to the tattoo. He hadn't noticed it at first; it was tiny, a circular, tribal-esque Celtic knot that rested in the small of his back. Chase shifted slightly as Will traced it, groaning slightly. Will paused, and Chase shifted more, blearily opening his eyes.

"Y're not a pumpkin."

Will raised an eyebrow, aware that he was still grinning like an idiot. "Nope."

"Thought you had to be back…"

"Eh. I'd prefer to be here with you."

Chase's smile was dizzyingly bright, and Will decided then and there that he wasn't letting this one go. He wiggled further down so he could wrap himself closer to his new friend. Acquaintance. Lover. Whatever- he just knew that there was no way he was taking money from this guy, not after he'd blown his mind so spectacularly. It was amazing what sex would do to you after one person handed themselves over so completely. As if in tune with his thoughts, Chase hummed happily, nuzzling his hair.

"Can we do that again?"

Will grinned into Chase's neck. "Trust me, you're going to have enough trouble walking as it is. You're going to be miserably sore."

Chase sighed, tightening his grip. They just lay there for a bit, sleepy and content. It was warm, and comforting just to be with another person, Will realized in a hazy daze of pleasure. He hadn't had this since Merlin-

The phone rang.

The two jolted like frightened rabbits, Will tumbling out of bed to silence the thing, Chase grumbling obscenities under his breath as the pain kicked in with the sudden movement.

Will picked up the phone, startled to see that Dr. Van Veldt was the caller. Suddenly furious, he answered it. "I don't know how you got this number, but so help me, if you ever call again I _will_ use everything I know against you, and trust me, I know a lot."

"_You didn't show-_" Van Veldt's voice whined, but Will cut him off.

"That's right, I didn't. If I don't, I have something to do, and in this case it was infinitely more important to you."

"_What could possibly be more important than me?_" Van Veldt honestly sounded confused. Will's knuckles went white.

"Call again, and I will make your life a living hell." Will furiously punched the End Call button, and slumped to the floor, clutching his head and shaking. He told very few people that number; only the shelters that he regularly visited, the bank where he'd been steadily accumulating a nice nest egg, some of the others who watched his back, and Kieran should have had it. Not a client. _Never_ a client.

A hand dropped to his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Will reached up and took the hand, leaning against Chase's forearm and closing his eyes. He relished the closeness for a moment before forcing himself to respond. "I've been worse, love. But you'll be my last."

"What?"

Will smiled, standing and sliding back into bed to let Chase carefully gather him up. "I'm quitting."

"Will you be okay? You won't starve or be tossed out on the streets, right?" Will smiled at that. The man was rather sweet.

"Yeah… friend said he could probably get me a job anyway, so I'm just going to get my act together and make it work. I couldn't afford to have a job for a while, y'see. I couldn't afford to be found." Will was coming down off of his happiness far too fast, and did not like it. He shook his head, and forced a smile. "But that's another matter."

Chase nodded, not pressing the issue, and pulled him closer.

"I've got to get back to my place by one, alright? My roommate has a bit of anxiety when it comes to my whereabouts late at night."

Chase nodded, and hesitantly kissed him, soft and sweet and startlingly chaste.

Will smiled, and responded in kind. When they ran out of air, Will grinned happily. "I'm giving you my number. And don't even think about payment- I took your virginity, kid, there isn't much you could give me to top that."

Chase went red.

"Good God you're adorable."

/

The alarm shrieked at exactly 6:00 AM, and Merlin let out a string of words that blistered the paint and made Gwaine's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline.

"_What_ did you just say?"

Merlin repeated his words without the slightest hint of care, and yanked open a drawer in the bedside table. Pulling out a bowie knife, he unrepentantly stabbed the clock into oblivion, tossed the knife back in the drawer, and buried himself back under the covers.

Gwaine gaped, staring at the mangled remains of the unfortunate clock. The minute hand gave a last, weak spasm, and died.

"Merlin-"

"I'm not going!" Came the muffled yell. "I'm going to stay here, and sleep, and forget that the world wants me dead, and _you can't stop me!_ I am taking the day _off_, I am taking a _nap_, I am _not_ going into work to deal with Arthur, I-"

"Oh, shut it and get up."

There was a loud, bad tempered groan from under the covers where Merlin was hiding from the world. Gwaine rolled his eyes and bent down, putting his mouth close to where Merlin's ear was.

"I'll make waffles," he whispered in a sing-song voice, grinning when Merlin went still for a moment.

"…I'm up," Merlin mumbled, sticking his head out and looking hopefully at Gwaine, who grinned and pounced. Merlin's shriek was cut off as Gwaine lavished kisses all over his face and neck. "Insatiable," he muttered, and Gwaine chuckled low in his throat.

"We've got time…"

"_I_ don't need convincing. Last I checked, it's Arthur you've got to worry about."

"Eh. Imma risk it."

/

"Gwaine, please tell me that you have a halfway decent reason as to _why_ my secretary is late? Holy- Merlin wasn't kidding about punching you, was he?"

"No, he really wasn't. As to why we were late… well, he just looks so delectable in bed, all bed-head and miles of perfect skin, and those _eyes- God, _those eyes. You know those eyes, Arthur, I mean, it's like being mind-fu-"

"Go and put out the fire that that idiot Benali started before I'm tempted to fire you."

"Don't you want to hear-"

"So help me, if you continue, I _will_ get the key to your office from Gwen and put your desk to a…shall we say… better use."

"…Fine. I need you to sign this."

/

"Why has Arthur been staring at my neck all morning, Gwaine?"

"Haven't the foggiest, darling."

"Uh-huh… I'm _sure_ it has nothing to do with the bruises that you left there."

"Uh… Want some of my salad?"

"Don't change the subject, and you know I hate cucumbers."

/

"A_nd _he was a virgin!"

"How old did you say he was again?" Kieran's eyes were wide and startled. While he'd firmly put his "work" behind him after he'd been attacked, it wasn't like he had forgotten anything. He'd been lucky in his johns- most of them had been kind and as gentle as could be expected with him, but he'd never had one like the man Will was so worked up about. Shifting on his stool, he was forced to crane his head around as Will stormed past.

"Twenty freaking seven!" Will spun around from his fevered pacing. "I'm ruined, I tell you. I'll never get his face out of my mind. Never. He's gorgeous even if he's all broken up inside, I'm telling you, and the last time I've honestly enjoyed someone was Merlin and _that_ was nearly, what, nine years ago? Ten? Eleven? Eleven, yes, it's been eleven. _God_, it's honestly been eleven years since I got properly laid and I'm a whore. What is _wrong_ with me?!"

Kieran felt his mouth make a little "o" as Will whipped around again, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He sat silently and watched as Will swirled and stamped through the studio, glad that it was a Saturday and therefore not a day he had class.

Finally, Will stopped, staring bleakly out the window at Kieran's plants. The miniature roses waved slightly in the wind, their petals ruffling.

"What do I do?" He whispered.

Kieran sighed, sliding off his stool and coming over to gingerly hug Will. "You let him decide what he's going to do, and if he goes for it, you go for it. You've got all sorts of choices, really."

Will sighed, hugging him back for a moment, then letting go to go over and filch one of Kieran's emergency beers out of the fridge. "You know, if someone had told me that I would fall for a john, I would have been extremely pissed at them," he said conversationally. "And, it's not like it was love at first sight, you know. More like love at first fu-"

"Shutupshutupshutup!"

Will grinned, the beer swinging in his hand as he came over to lean against the island. "You never know, he could be the one-"

With a crunch, a fist was thrust through the thin door to the hall. Kieran bolted upright, shrieking in alarm as what appeared to be a grenade was dropped through. Will dropped the beer on the island, grabbing Kieran and diving to the ground as an explosion ripped apart the entire apartment, smoke and sparks blinding them.

_Flash bomb, _Will realized belatedly as a thick crunch ripped through the air, his brain fuzzed and confused. Kieran's thin body shuddered under him, fingers wrapping into Will's shirt. As he struggled upright, going for some sort of weapon, Will figured that he, rather than Kieran, had taken the brunt of the bomb. Kieran had been under him with his eyes squeezed shut at the time, and he'd managed to get a hold on a frying pan.

Will's scrabbling fingers managed to clutch onto something smooth and almost rectangular just as a thick fist slammed into his side. Gasping, he blindly swung the thing in his hand and connected with the attacker. There was an enraged howl, and Will was slammed against the wall, whimpering in pain as his stomach was pounded. His head cleared, and he found himself staring at a twisted, deformed face. It was heavily scarred, and attached to a rather twisted body. The shoulders were incredibly wide, the waist far too narrow, with stubby legs and teeth that had been sharpened to points. A gash ran across the chest, and Will realized that he held Kieran's most prized possession, a carving knife of Toledo steel, in his hand.

Adrenaline brought the world back into sharp focus and Will promptly stabbed the deformed man in the arm. The man shrieked, releasing him and darting away. Will scrambled upright and watched as the man ran to the door.

Kieran had already bashed one with the frying pan, sending him running, but there were four more and they were even bigger prowling around.

Will dragged himself to Kieran's side, grabbing another one of the nice knives, the Chicago Cutlery ones that Kieran'd been gifted with a while ago.

"Now would be the time to have a knight in shining armor," Will muttered. Kieran nodded in terror, shaking beside him. The frying pan had been exchanged for his huge butcher knife, and it quivered in his hands, the blade a shining silver, blurring slightly as Kieran adjusted his grip.

The group growled, and as one took a step forward, a blur in a black suit burst through the remnants of the door and kicked it in the head, snapping it sideways and making the man drop to the ground, shrieking like the others.

Will and Kieran watched in awe as Mordred darted around the room, a violent martial arts dance that swirled and danced over the slow men, kicks and punches that sent the four scampering for the door, their shrieking voices high enough to make the wine glasses on the counter shiver.

Mordred straightened as the last one flew through the door, adjusting his tie and popping his neck. Taking a calming breath, he turned and walked over to them, gently taking the knife from Kieran's hands and setting it on the island, ignoring the splashes of blood from the one that Will had managed to hurt.

"Are you hurt?"

Kieran mutely shook his head, staring at Mordred with wide eyes. "Y-you know Kung Fu."

Mordred smiled slightly, showing some unnervingly sharp teeth, and kissed his forehead. "Yes, I do."

Will set the knives down gingerly and slumped to the floor, beginning to mutter the Hail Mary under his breath. He was seriously thinking that going to Mass tomorrow might be a good plan. Mass, some donations, maybe go and see his father's grave, go to confession (for some of the minor things, of course, because one did not simply walk into confession and announce to the kind old man behind the screen that you were a male prostitute) do some serious praying- yes, good Sunday activities to be certain. Sing hymns. Things like that. Yes. Good. Very good.

He groaned and rubbed his forehead before looking back up.

Kieran and Mordred were still being cute and simpering adoringly over each other, so Will took a deep breath and stood back up. Best to clean the blood before it stained-

He rushed to the bathroom and made it just before he was violently sick.

/

Merlin's phone began a lovely, if tinny rendition of Hells Bells, but was subsequently ignored as a shriek of pain echoed through the small front room/living room.

Merlin's favorite sai's, the gift from Freya that had sat on his bookshelf in reverent awe for the past seven months, were finally being used, and used with a vengeance. Damascus steel older than the city itself was connecting with brutal force against five – count 'em, five, ladies and gentlemen- very bad tempered and scarred men intent on beating the ever loving crap out of him. Merlin whirled and spun, keeping them in his sight as he lashed out. The sai's slammed hard against any available surfaces, and with shrieks, one by one they peeled off. Gwaine, having figured out that pain was the key to getting the strangers to run, was similarly lashing out with his booted feet and the carving knife that Merlin had once held to his throat. His remaining three were more wary, and had figured out that staying away from the knife was for the best.

The last of Merlin's ran for it, and Merlin turned, snarling in fury and slamming one with the right sai, followed shortly by the left. The man shrieked and fled, leaving Gwaine to easily dispatch the last two. One fled, the other not so lucky as a stab wound made him stumble, an arm flailing out to reveal a tattoo on the underside of his forearm. Merlin caught a glimpse of it just before the man scampered out.

Gwaine, panting, dropped the knife carelessly onto the overturned coffee table and flopped onto the miraculously still intact couch. "That," he said dryly, "Was not the most pleasant of homecomings I've ever had. I'd much have preferred you. Naked. Possibly with strategically placed ribbons or something. Maybe a corset, heels…I don't even know."

"Insatiable," was all that Merlin managed before dropping down beside him, staring blankly at the wreckage of the living room. The coffee table was a total loss, the armchair the same. The bookshelves were largely intact, but most of the books they had once housed had been strewn across the floor. The drawers of the TV cabinet had been yanked open and gone through, the small breakfast table that had held a pile of newspapers and a collection of dried plum pits completely destroyed into large splinters from where Merlin had nearly thrown one of the attackers. The sai's, miraculously, had been left untouched in their pedestals.

"This is ridiculous," he whispered.

"What is?"

Merlin dropped his head, and felt his throat tighten. _Do not cry. Do NOT cry. Not here, not now, not in front of Gwaine when we've just finished fighting, do it later when you're alone-_

A solitary tear escaped and fell to the ground, and warm arms wrapped around him. "Feels like rape, doesn't it?" Gwaine's voice said softly as he pulled him close, pressing soft kisses to his neck. Merlin just nodded, shoulders shaking as he fought to keep the sobs back. This was his home, his sanctuary, the one place he was allowed to not be Secretary Merlin or Dragonlord Emrys, just Merlin-Who-Was-With-Gwaine, and could walk around stark naked for all he wanted. To have someone come in and take that was the worst feeling he'd ever experienced. It topped everything he'd endured through school, the hit from Arthur, his first kill, all of it.

The phone started singing again, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes and standing, despite Gwaine plucking at his shirt to try and get him to sit back down. Picking up the phone, he hit accept.

"Make it quick, Mordred, I just got attacked by ten souped-up Dorocha with extremely low pain tolerance and I'm not at my best."

"_Oh, great, you too? Kieran and Will just got attacked too. I got up the stairs in time, but… yeah, not good._"

Merlin's heart stopped, and his knees nearly gave out. Gwaine jumped up and caught him around the waist, clinging to him and murmuring soft reassurances. Merlin clutched his hands as they wrapped around his waist, knuckles going white. "Are they alright?"

"_Will's a bit shocked, and Kieran's shaking pretty bad, but they could be worse._" There was a pause, and Mordred switched to Chinese. "_They can't stay here, Merlin. The door to this place isn't even solid, and it's been broken through. I'd keep them at my place, but it's no better defendable."_

Merlin bit his lip, and switched to Chinese as well. _"Arthur has room, and he's not about to deny me anything after I fixed that fiasco with the Italians. I'm not sure how happy the other guests would be, but I guess we could stay in the East Wing…_"

"_Other guests?"_

"…_You'll see. How soon can you have everything ready to go?"_

Another pause, and Merlin heard muffled conversation. Gwaine murmured, "What's going on?"

"We're going to Arthur's place. You gave your old place up ages ago, and he'd know about it anyway. We'll just have to take the necessities and commission a new door- maybe drop some of the weaponry off at Kilgarrah's town house." Merlin leaned back against Gwaine, and sighed as Gwaine leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Mordred's voice returned. "_Give us an hour. Will's saying something about getting his savings or something. I can be ready to move in maybe fifteen minutes, there's not much in my place, just my books and violin and such. Can we take Kieran's plants?"_

"Far be it for me to tell him we can't. I'll call Arthur and send some cars."

"…_Send some cars? As in, like a van or something?"_

Merlin grinned for the first time since he'd seen the door broken open. "Arthur's a bit… classier, I suppose, than that. You'll like them."

"…_I get the feeling I'm about to be impressed."_

"Oh, you will be. I'll have Gwaine take the Fireflite and follow you on the bike, alright?"

"Bike?" Gwaine interrupted, sounding startled. "What bike? You never said anything about owning a bike."

Mordred's chuckle resonated in his ear. "_Alright, _gege_," _he said, using the Mandarin word for older brother. Merlin felt a surge of warmth.

"_Wo ai ni, didi._"

/

An hour later, Will stood uneasily on the stoop of Kieran's building, surrounded by plants and carrying a backpack that contained all of his worldly possessions (clothes, a few pawn-able things, the military man's dog tags, and his black book of contacts, which was now roughly the size of a five section notebook and included extremely precise notes on just about every client he'd ever had and ways to blackmail them) and his wallet and phone. Beside him was an enormous rolling suitcase that was stuffed with all of Kieran's cooking utensils, all of the alcohol, and most of the food. There was also a much smaller bag that contained Kierans clothes. Mordred had brought a tiny backpack that contained all of his clothes, a laptop bag, a rolling crate stuffed with textbooks, two plates, a cracked mug that said "I Survived Shanghai" on it, and a very battered violin case. Mordred himself was currently up in the apartment, trying to talk Kieran out of taking the cot.

He glanced up at the sky, and groaned quietly as he saw the clouds.

"Does it _ever_ stop raining in this stupid city?" he asked the street miserably. The asphalt declined to respond.

A low rumble caught his attention, and he looked down the street just in time to let his jaw drop.

"Please oh _puh-leeease_ let that be our ride."

The jet black, chrome gleaming vision of 40's beauty rolled up and stopped directly in front of the building, whitewall tires the size of Alaska levitating it above the ground, sleek curves blending it with the street and immediately drawing the eye to a snarling dragon hood ornament. Will's eyes coasted greedily along its surface, looking for the name he knew had to be there.

_Packard._

The driver's door opened, and a uniformed young man in a hat reminiscent of every movie bellhop stepped out, face carefully blank, and hands in elegant white gloves.

"Mr. Smithson, I presume?"

Will grinned. "You presume correctly," he said cheerfully, walking down the steps to admire the car a little better.

The kid smiled and relaxed, the blank face dropping to reveal the face of someone who was probably perpetually cheerful. "I'm to help with the luggage, sir. Is this all of it?"

"Yes, it is. Tell me, what kind of car is that, besides being a Packard of impeccable taste?"

The kid's grin widened. "Why sir, this is the 1941 Packard Super 8 180. It's one of the lucky eight that the Pendragon's have had kept up since they were first made. Still in mint condition."

"And how does it feel, driving history, my good fellow?" Will grinned, gathering his things and helping the kid begin loading them. The back was plenty spacious for all of the gear and two people, and Will would sit up next to the driver. He was _not_ viewing this car from the back, no sir.

"Well, sir, it's positively… awesome."

"I get the feeling that you were about to say something else."

"Well, yes sir, but the head of staff gets annoyed if I talk about orgasms on duty."

"…You are quite possibly the most humorous taxi-esque driver I've ever met."

"Thank you, sir. If you'd hand me the roses?"


	14. Paradise

**I don't own Merlin, or Portal, or the Tron Lightcycle (I want one, **_**sooo bad**_**) **_**or**_** the Portal Gun, though I **_**am**_** going to find a way to do what Arthur did with them. I also do not own Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows, though I borrowed a quote. **

**Interesting note for the British and other non-Americans, after my lovely and wonderful beta, EachPeachPearPlum, brought this to my attention: after much surveying of the populous of my school and contemplation of sitting rooms in the area, there is a difference between a sofa and a couch. Couches are set in living rooms, are wide, comfortable, and you're allowed to have food on them. Sofas are for sitting rooms- they're the ones that people bring in when Great-Aunt Garnet comes to visit, are smaller, and are extremely uncomfortable.**

**Paradise is by Coldplay.**

**/**

The sleek 1941 Packard Super 8 180 seemed to glide through traffic, its occupants all silently staring out the windows. Will glanced in the rearview mirror to see Kieran huddled against Mordred, a miniature rosebush on his lap, and Mordred's arm around him, head resting under Mordred's chin. He looked safe, calmer than he had in quite a while, and Will nodded to himself, satisfied with this turn of events. Turning back around, he surveyed the road ahead. They'd already left the city behind, and were passing through stages of forest, suburb, and open land.

It was hard to believe that it was barely four in the afternoon. The clouds had darkened, sending it to an almost twilight stage of night, something that Will did not like. He was contemplating the clouds and wondering why it was _always_ raining when the snarling roar of an engine announced its presence behind him. Glancing in the mirror, he jolted at the sight. Blinking a few times, he rubbed his eyes and then stared harder.

"…The Lightcycle is following us."

Kieran moved slightly. "What?"

"The Lightcycle. From Tron. It's right there. Glowing blue. There's a guy in a dragon helmet sitting on i- oh man."

With a sleek _jhwaoooom_ the bike passed them, revealing that the rider not only had one scary looking helmet, he also had a sword strapped to his back and happened to be one Merlin Emrys. The helmet turned, and Will _felt_ Merlin grin at them before accelerating away.

Will just stared. The driver just grinned.

"Where the _hell_ did he get money for a street legal Lightcycle?"

/

The Pendragon estate of Camelot was situated on 150 acres of wooded, hilled, gardened, and walled land about sixteen miles outside of the city. It was constantly mistaken by visitors for a national park or some such, perhaps a game reserve. This was because the entire place had five foot thick walls that stood eight feet tall tipped with shards of glass and wrought iron spikes. The solitary entrance was a wrought iron gate with a specially put together backing of solid steel. Though the gate appeared delicate from the front, it was in fact nearly nine inches of tightly twined together metal thick.

Parked outside the gate were the Lightcycle and a Desoto. Merlin had taken his helmet off, and was reclining against the hood of the Desoto with Gwaine's arm casually (if possessively) around his waist when the Packard pulled up. Will rolled down the window.

"When did you join the one percent?" He demanded over the rumble of the motor. Merlin grinned, pulling away from Gwaine to go over and lean against the door.

"It's on loan from Arthur. He saw it in the film and just about had a coronary trying to contact someone to build him a replica." Merlin glanced at the bike, grinning rather smugly. "And I'd be lying if I told you that it wasn't the coolest thing in the world I've ever ridden."

With him a little closer, Will could get a proper look at his ex's clothing. He whistled. "How'd you make it out of the house without him throwing a fit?"

Merlin kept grinning. "It took a bit. And some, shall we say, _persuasion_."

Rather than going for chaps, he'd somehow managed to pour himself into black leather pants, put on knee high combat boots over that, and _then_ had a black tee, and high collared black leather jacket with a red Chinese dragon embroidered on the back. He'd also invested in gauntlets, gloves with that went up to his elbow and were adorned with three flat buckles. Will scowled, feeling inordinately jealous. Merlin just wiggled his fingers in a slightly amused wave and went over to the gate to press a small, orange button.

There was a crackle, and a booming voice from the middle of nowhere demanded, "_WHO DISTURBS MY SLUMBER?!"_

Merlin grinned as the group all jumped, and drawled, "Hello, Carl. It's Merlin, and some guests. We're here for a bit of an extended stay."

There was a huff, creating more static._ "I knooow that, seeing as we have cameras installed. I've just always wanted to say that to you. You're the only one that plays along. Mr. Pendragon just flips me off, you know. Such a rude guy when he wants to be, but so freaking awesome at the same time. Absolute conundrum. So, you free for a couple drinks later or is His Highness going to throw a fit?"_

The gate began creaking open.

"His Highness might, and my man most definitely will. Thanks for thinking of me though, Carl."

"_De nada. And if your man is that hunk of good looking next to you, you definitely got a better deal than I did._" The static crackled and the gate opened all the way. Merlin hopped back onto the Lightcycle as a grinning Gwaine returned to the Fireflite, and the entourage entered the gate.

They'd gone maybe half an acre through what seemed to be a small forest before the Lightcycle hit its brakes. The others followed suit, slowing to a stop. Will peered out the window. Merlin seemed to be talking to the ground, and Gwaine was making frantic moves in the front of the Desoto. Merlin turned around and called something to him, and Gwaine stopped his freaking out.

"What's going on?"

The driver leaned back in his seat. "The guards have to check over the vehicles. Mr. Emrys, Mr. Noble, and Mr. Arthmael should be fine, seeing as they work for Mr. Pendragon, but he hasn't uploaded you or Mr. Gonzales into the employee system yet, so they'll be a bit more curious."

"Guards?"

There was a tapping noise, and the driver smirked at him, pushing open the door.

A small, white, oval-esque robot with a solitary red eye hopped up onto the drivers lap.

_Dee-dee-dee-deet!_

Will felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and salute in terror as the small white robot stared at him.

"That," he said slowly, "Is not a guard. That is a turret."

The turret's 'eye' seemed to blink, and Will got the feeling that if it had had a head, it would have tilted it, considering him.

"Hello?" The machine spoke in fake, mechanical tones. "Hello?"

Will stared. "Hi," he said finally, resisting the urge to bail out of the car. The turret seemed to consider this, shifting slightly on the drivers lap. It turned and looked in the back of the car at the two wide eyed men, and then returned its attention to Will.

"I'm different," the turret informed him, before turning around and jumping back out of the car. The driver shut the door and looked at him, grinning.

Silence reigned supreme, and then Will said, in an attempt at casual, "So, Mr. Pendragon's a bit of a gamer?"

"You could put it like that, yeah. And the turret's_ are_ operational- they fire bullets and have little cameras in their eyes that some guys watch from up in the house. They mostly just patrol the borders, but they've been known to come up closer to the house, and the turret wives live there."

"Turret wives?"

"Really fat ones. They're mostly watchers, but they're still totally capable of shooting the ever loving hell out of anything that's a threat. There's also an operational set of Daleks that patrol down by the horse arena."

The Lightcycle started back up, the neon blue glow casting weird shadows through the trees, and they returned to their journey. Will watched as the turrets scuttled into the trees, and shivered. The drive was long and twisted back and forth. Trees of varying varieties brushed past them, their branches forming a sort of arch over the road, before suddenly opening into a circular drive with an enormous five-leveled fountain, and one of the most beautiful houses Will had ever seen.

The three in the Packard all gasped as the driver grinned, and craned forward to get a better look.

Camelot was enormous. A set of curved stairs, one on each side, led up to the huge French front doors. The entire place was gleaming white, four sparkling, shimmering stories high, and stretched longer than a city block. Will doubted that any of their jaws were ever going to rehinge themselves. Windows were flung open, as well as double doors that lead onto balconies, revealing flowing white curtains that billowed out into the air. Some of the balconies conjoined, and maids in black and white were fluffing out sheets and such on some of the Eastern wing balconies. The roof was a dazzling blue metal that sparkled in the sunlight. There was a circular window that centered above the door, stained glass that picked out the Pendragon Crest, and as Will watched in amazement, a bevy of footmen in what appeared to be tuxedos threw open the door and flocked towards Merlin, who was climbing off the Lightcycle.

The driver nodded at them. "Merlin grew up here and was kind of expected to marry Arthur, so he'll probably be treated either like glass or royalty. Expect to be fawned over, alright?"

The three nodded dumbly, all staring in stupefied awe.

Kieran was the first to regain his voice, whispering, "I want to live in a place like this someday. A tiny version of this. With gardens, and naked statues. And horses. And dogs. I bet the kitchen is huge."

"Oh, it is, sir," the driver said cheerfully, killing the engine. "Now, prepare for the flock to descend. Don't worry about your things, they'll be taken to a room in the East Wing before you sort them. That's where guests stay."

"Then who on Earth stays in the West side?" Mordred demanded, eyes still wide and startled. He'd been to the Forbidden Palace, yes, he'd seen all of the beauties and majesties that China had been willing to show him, but this took the cake. He'd never imagined this…this _palace_ barely 20 minutes from the city.

"Ah…about that-"

The doors were pulled open, and the trio stared as three footmen all beamed at them and began to talk rapidly, inviting them in, telling them where to go – "just up the stairs on your right and in the doors, the others will direct you from there, Mr. Smithson, Mr. Arthmael, _Senor_ Gonzales-" "Please, it's just mister or Kieran, we're not in Spain-" "Of course, _Senor_"- and grabbing things from their hands and handing them off to others. Will firmly retained control of his bag though, and Mordred his violin. The two exchanged wide eyed looks over Kieran's head before being shuttled towards the stairs. They were herded up the steps, baffled, and watched as Merlin was ushered up the left stairs. He looked totally in control, and his helmet was being carried by a kid who was probably only 14. The kid looked like he'd received the best birthday gift ever.

Gwaine looked about as hassled as they did though, which was mildly reassuring up until they walked through the doors.

/

Arthur was somehow unsurprised at the expressions on the faces of his guests when they came into the west parlor. Looking up from his book, he smiled. "You made it." The group was a bit startled looking, and he was delighted to see that Mordred had an arm brushing up against Kieran's. The Spaniard looked much better than he'd been before, and much more relaxed. Gwaine looked like he'd been steamrollered, and Merlin just looked smug. The last one, the one in the very fake leather coat, had to be Will, and had eyes that were positively huge.

Thus, he was the one who had never had the dubious pleasure of being startled out of his wits by the décor. As Arthur watched, the man's eyes roamed around the room. They finally landed on him, and Arthur blinked as the brilliant eyes zoomed in on him with the force of a small hurricane. "You!"

Arthur blinked, taken aback. Most people didn't start pointing fingers until the lawyers came to play.

"You have a series of sketches hanging in your hallway. Sketches that, unless my miserably jealous eyes have deceived me, were done by one_ Leonardo da Vinci_. How?! I thought they were all in collections. Beautiful work though, his sketching of bone is exquisite, but that is entirely beyond the point. You're aware of what those would get at auction, yes? Are they in proper condition? Are they stabilized? Are they routinely checked for damage?"

Arthur just stared. "Um…yes?"

"Good." Will nodded approvingly, and then took in the rest of the room as Merlin herded the lot towards the couches.

Arthur had to admit, the entire place was a bit over the top. Most of the Camelot décor had been based on the interior of Buckingham Palace and the Palace of Versailles, so gold Rocco was everywhere. This particular parlor had a set of paintings hung carefully about the walls, and one wall was mostly windows covered by golden satin curtains that blew faintly in the wind. A set of French doors led out to the wide veranda and stone porches, though the curtains had been carefully drawn to keep all but the most necessary sunlight out. The seating was arranged around a long, glass topped coffee table: one loveseat, covered in a hideous blue and gold pattern, one overstuffed, high-backed armchair, one fainting couch that Arthur was currently stretched out on, and a longer sofa in the same ugly blue and gold as the loveseat.

Mordred and Kieran took the loveseat immediately, Mordred waiting before Kieran was seated before sitting himself next to him, looking a bit smug and possessive. Will claimed the huge armchair, immediately taking over the space and subtly daring anyone to try and remove him from it. Merlin and Gwaine both flopped onto the sofa, Merlin looking totally at home, Gwaine just looking tired and mildly annoyed. Arthur didn't miss the way his head of PR had scrunched closer to Merlin, as if he just want to reach over and cling, but wasn't about to be that "forward" in public.

Arthur set his book on the table and sat up.

"So. This is everyone?"

Merlin nodded, yawning behind a hand. "Oh, and Will, this is Arthur. Arthur, Will. Will is going to be one of the new Pages."

"Mm." Arthur stretched, and then frowned, looking at the door. "Odd…"

"What?"

"Oh, they've normally got tea up here before anyone can even get through the gate…"

At that precise moment, the door from the hallway opened and one of the footmen came in. Scurrying over, he bowed slightly and said, "The butler's gathering tea, sir. He just got back from the stables. Mr. Gherei didn't want to leave, and he had to do some convincing."

Arthur nodded. "Alright. Thank you, Gerald."

"Aye sir."

Gerald scuttled back out the door and Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"What was that about Gherei? I thought that he was an excellent trainer." Merlin's voice cut through the faint headache, and Arthur relaxed into the couch.

"Oh, he was, _Mer_lin. He just missed the memo that I don't allow whips or crops of any kind here, and tested one out on one of the boys."

He watched as Merlin went stiff with rage and shock. "_What?_"

Satisfied that he now had directed Merlin's attention to him and _not_ on Gwaine's hand, which was resting a bit too high on Merlin's leg (Arthur was many things, and wasn't ashamed to admit that jealous was sometimes one of them), he launched into the story. All the while that he yammered on, he kept an eye on the wall where the carefully concealed butler's entrance was. Where _was_ he? It never took the man this long to change- even when blood stains happened to dot his clothing, he was always fast with the cleaning and changing thing.

Arthur had just about finished when a section of the wall pushed away and revealed his butler, carefully carrying a tray laden with a tea service and his signature shotgun over his shoulder.

"_There_ you are, Geraint!"

/

No.

No no no no no way was this possible.

Will felt his whole body stiffen, and watched in mild horror as Kieran's eyes flicked to him, eyebrows rising almost imperceptibly.

Long, graceful legs came into view, followed by a white shirt and black vested torso, oddly crossed by a leather strap that hooked onto a pump action shotgun currently resting against his back with easy familiarity. Hands that Will was well aware of being surprisingly talented and tender gripped an ornate tray, easily balancing the plethora of cups, saucers, pots, and silverware on it. And then…

Yep.

No point denying it.

Geraint Chase was Arthur Pendragon's butler, and Will would be lying through his teeth if the said he looked anything other than damn fine in his uniform.

Chase caught sight of him, and their eyes connected. There was the briefest flash of surprise under a mask of impassivity, and the tray shook for just a half a second. Will wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been looking for it, but he _had_ been, and now they were both very aware of each other. Well, well, well…

"Everyone, this is Geraint Chase, the butler." Arthur had dragged himself upright with surprising grace, and accepted a silently proffered cup of tea. "We'd be lost without him, isn't that right, Merlin?"

"Very true."

Chase dipped his head, and then served Merlin. Will watched like a hawk, analyzing what he could. Arthur, then Merlin, that was simple enough. Arthur was the head of the house, his loyalties lay with him. Merlin had lived here, and been part of Arthur's life for a long time, so he might be biased. Who next, who next… ah. Gwaine, then, probably because he was important to Merlin and of a high rank in the company, then Mordred, who also had a relatively important part in the company… Kieran, or himself?

Himself, it seemed. How interesting to see that he ranked above Kieran, who had been sitting right next to Mordred and would have been easier to serve. He was a bit flattered, honestly.

Will accepted the cup with an inclined head and murmured thanks, carefully noting Chase's body language. He had managed to somehow lower himself below Will's head, not an easy feat for someone so ridiculously tall, and his whole body screamed of submissiveness.

_Hmmm…_

Kieran took his tea with a smile and a cheerful "Thank you" that had Chase looking marginally happier than before. This all done, he soundlessly moved to stand behind Arthur, staring directly at Will.

Will reclined, neatly draping one leg over the other and smirking, looking straight into Chase's eyes and sipping his tea with all the self-control he had. This could become a _very_ good situation for him- Chase must have influence of some kind over Arthur, and that wasn't something to take lightly. Chase shifted slightly, the faintest hint of a blush hitting his cheekbones. Will's smirk widened before he demurely lowered his eyes.

Merlin began explaining the attack with input from Mordred, who had somehow managed to get even closer to Kieran, who wasn't complaining in the slightest. Will watched as Gwaine sank back into the couch, sipping his tea with his eyes at half-mast and clearly content to let Merlin explain things. He didn't blame him- the man looked more exhausted than before, and his hair had escaped its ponytail a few minutes ago when they were coming down through the main hall.

As he was studying the room, there was a soft click, and all of them jolted, hypersensitive to noise. Mordred half rose, Gwaine reached for his gun, and Chase already had the shotgun up and aimed. Arthur just turned to look at the door.

Will's heart froze.

A tiny boy about four years old peaked into the room, wide blue eyes framed by shaggy black hair. Chase relaxed, lowering the gun back to its original position, and the rest sank back into calm, smiling at the little kid.

Will stood up, and the boy caught sight of him. With a squeal of delight, the kid ran in and hugged Will's legs.

"Willlllll!"

Will scooped the boy up, heart in his throat. "Hello, Pierre. Where's your _maman_?"

Pierre considered, and then shrugged, beaming and clinging to Will.

Will turned to face Arthur, trying to keep himself as calm as possible. "Mr. Pendragon," he said quietly, letting the boy cuddle his neck. "I didn't figure you for a kidnapper, so please explain yourself before I make a break for the door or find something to beat your head in with. This is, after all, my godchild, and I would dearly like to know what he's doing here."

Arthur looked taken aback, and looked over at Merlin. "You didn't tell him?"

Merlin shook his head. Arthur rolled his eyes and stood up, beckoning Will towards him. "Let me show you something."

Will cautiously followed, along with the rest of the group to the wall of windows. Chase pulled back the curtains, and Will's eyebrows shot up.

The room's door opened out onto a wide stone porch vaguely similar to the one at Powerscourt, with a stretch that ended before the edge of the house on both sides, ringed with a high, solid stone wall. The center of the porch was circular, pushing out farther than its veranda-esque counterparts, and had elegant, flowering plants draping along the sides of its curved walls. A wide stair ran down to a long pool, which had a statue of a rearing Pegasus stuck in it. Chairs, tables, and porch swings had been set out, and groups of tired looking women sat in the lot of them, talking quietly and enjoying the weather, which had returned to sunshine. A few children were racing each other up and down the steps.

"After a spectacular misstep on my part in my younger years," Arthur said quietly, looking out at the people, "I had to perform some community service. The judge, who didn't particularly like me, told me that I could either help at the sewage treatment plant, or the coroners' office. I chose the coroner. While I was there, serving for just a month, nine women came in for autopsies. All of them had been battered beyond belief by people they loved. Only two of the people who killed them were put away, both of them husbands."

Will stared out at the women, and noticed that most of them had bruises. A few had casts. All had the beaten down, worn-thin look of someone abused for too long.

"You run a shelter," Kieran said quietly, coming closer to peer through the window.

"Underground. Quietly. If they can make it here, they live free of charge, and I help get them on their feet and in jobs, normally for me, in some part of the world." Arthur nodded at Pierre. "His mother came in about three weeks ago."

Will shivered. "Did she have two girls with her?"

Arthur nodded. "She should be outsi-"

"_Pierre!_"

The group turned to see a frazzled woman with a mane of curly brown hair hurry into the room, eyes wide. She froze when she saw the group, eyes darting back and forth. Arthur smiled at her, and Will grinned.

"Hi, Marcella."

Marcella Dubois stared at him, jaw dropped in surprise. "William?"

"_Maman!_" Pierre began to squirm, and Will set him down. He ran over to his mother, who scooped him up, scolding nervously in French. She cautiously came over, switching to English to let out a stream of apologies to Arthur for interrupting. Arthur waved them off, and she attacked Will, kissing both cheeks and telling him all about how she had left her husband, Jakob, for good, that rat, and how he'd attacked Suzette and Leah, and Suzette had gotten a hold of the carving knife and cut his Achilles tendon and it was _so _good to see him, she was certain he'd been eaten by the cannibal doctor and that was why she hadn't looked for him (Will had stayed with them before- he had been dragged off the streets spontaneously to be a witness to her and Jakob's wedding, and had somehow become the godfather of their third child) and wasn't this the boy who'd been attacked – here she changed tack and pulled Kieran into a crushing hug, air-kissing both cheeks as he automatically did the same – and didn't he look so much better and she was so sorry to hear about the news and was he doing alright, eating alright, had he been staying off the streets and away from the disgusting, vice ridden scum of the earth who'd used him, may-they-rot-forever-in-garbage-and-their-bits-fal l-off, and had Will been treating him alright?

Kieran blinked and just said, "_Si."_ He seemed to have gone into shock.

Marcella seemed pleased by this, hugged Will once more, apologized again for intruding, and whisked herself and her wayward child away.

The room fell silent.

Kieran blinked a few times. "Is she always like that?" he asked absently.

"Nope. That's new." Will considered the doorway Marcella had exited, and smiled. "I like it."

"What was that about a cannibal doctor?" Gwaine asked mildly.

"His name's Gwillem."

"Gwill- William Smithson! _You brought me to a cannibal for stitching?!"_

"He hasn't eaten anybody in at _least_ five years, okay?"

/

The tour began in earnest then, starting with the basic explanation of the house. There was the Main Hall, which they had entered through, and where the da Vinci sketches hung. It ran through the house, though it was temporarily split by a wide, red carpeted staircase that looked like it had stepped out of Beauty and the Beast, and branched off into the two wings on the second floor. Two huge bronze and steel doors led to each first floor, and were opened wide to show long hallways with red and gold carpeting that led to two different indoor greenhouses. The main hall ended in an enormous ballroom that currently acted as the dining hall for the household. The entire house, staff, guests, and the Pendragon family all ate there every morning at 7:00 AM on the dot, exceptions only for those who didn't want food or were newly arrived (and occasionally the sick, but you had damn well better be on your death bed). Lunch was divided by wings, the Pendragons and their guests eating in the second floor dining room, the West wing eating in its counterpart, and the staff grabbing food on the go. There was a lot to do on the estate. Dinner was served together when the occasion permitted, though it wasn't a firmly together meal like breakfast was.

Each floor held something different. The first floor held all of what Arthur called the Receiving Rooms: parlors and sitting rooms that were opened up for special occasions or diplomatic talks. It also held the greenhouses, which sat on each end, the kitchens, a smaller ballroom, and a few extra bathrooms. The second floor held the family dining rooms, a music room, a weapons room, five studies, and most of the bedrooms. The third floor held an observatory, library, and the physician's suite, as well as the Master bedroom and bath.

This explained, they next walked out onto the porch, where all conversation abruptly stopped and some extremely suspicious eyes latched onto them. Arthur explained who they were, and tossed in the fact that they were all gayer than pink maypoles in September. The people relaxed, especially when a few spotted Merlin, whom they'd met before.

As they walked down the stairs leading to the pool/pond/fountain thing, Arthur told them that there were currently 25 children, 35 women, and two men staying in the West wing. On the other side, there were eight drivers (who drove both the cars, and the turrets around), 10 footmen, 30 guards (15 inside, 15 out), four cooks, 10 kitchen help, 10 garden workers, 10 hostlers, five repairmen and women, 35 cleaning staff, and obviously one butler. This equaled 123 people on staff, and with the rest of them there, 191 people lived and worked at Camelot. Another four therapists came and went throughout the week to help with the trauma that those being sheltered had suffered. The number had gone down from Uther's time, when nearly 250 people had lived and worked there at any given day. Most of them had been elderly, and had since died. Others had simply moved away, deciding that they didn't want to serve Arthur, who hadn't been the most obedient of people and had been a royal terror when he was younger. This had left the household much smaller, with more concentrated areas of work.

They reached the fountain-pond, where four paths split off from the end. Two wrapped around the house, leading to the Japanese Garden on the West, and the Dutch Tulip Garden on the East. The South-East path led to a large, open meadow where picnics, paintball fights, and martial arts training were held in the summer, as well as a small playground. The South-West path led to a swimming pool, gazebo, and the orchard. Uther, in true Utherian fashion, had decreed that Camelot be more self-sufficient. Thus, there was an orchard of apples, pears, peaches and plums, as well as a large vegetable garden, and a small wheat field.

Past the rectangular fountain-pond, a sloping hill led down to a long fence that stretched across the property with no apparent end in sight.

"What's this place?" Kieran asked as they approached the fence. Not far away, a wide stream intersected the grass, creating a barrier between the top and bottom of the property. Across the fence were rolling hills, lots of grass, and scattered copses of trees.

Arthur just grinned, and Geraint lazily swung over the fence. Striding in a bit, he put his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing four note whistle that reverberated harshly.

The group blinked and looked at each other, even as Merlin grinned and approached the fence, leaning on it.

"Wait for it…"

A loud whinny sounded, and Kieran's head snapped to the left just in time to see a multi-colored herd of horses erupt from the trees. The ground rumbled as they ran with full force across the open area, heading for another thick clump of trees. Manes and tails floated serenely in the wind.

"Ohhh…"

An enormous white horse separated from the herd, taking the stream in a single bound and trotting over to butt at Geraint, whickering slightly. Kieran scrambled over the fence, eyes alight, and approached the horse, to whom Geraint was murmuring quietly to and feeding half of an apple he must have filched from somewhere.

"He's lovely."

Geraint positively beamed at him, the first real expression he'd shown all day. "Indeed he is. This is Alexi."

Kieran grinned, reaching down and pulling up some grass. "Clever. He's an Orlov, right?"

Geraint nodded, fishing out another bit of apple and handing it off to Kieran to give to Alexi, who looked affronted that he wasn't getting it directly. "You know horses."

"My father is one of the trainers for the Gaurda Real, and my mother is a trick rider. I know horses, I assure you," Kieran said dryly, before turning his attention to Alexi, who was more than happy to be his new best friend in exchange for the apple. As he munched, Kieran ran his hands over him, marveling out loud at the muscle tone.

The rest of the group had gone over the fence as well, Mordred more reluctantly than the rest. Will hung back as well, clearly spooked by the huge animal. Merlin let out his own whistle, as did Arthur, and two other horses came crashing down the hill. The gelding, an enormous, dark brown Thoroughbred ("Of course," Merlin grumbled good naturedly) named Hengroen was Arthur's personal steed. The other, who ambled more than really crashed, was Merlin's 17th birthday gift from Arthur, a mare named ("Ever so imaginatively, _Mer_lin", Arthur sniped back) Red, due to the fact that she was a Red Appaloosa. They both were highly annoyed when apples failed to appear for them to munch on.

Kieran ran over to Mordred and dragged him over to come and make friends with the horses, despite Mordred's protests that "I belong in the city, where there are cars and they can't attack me or anything. I stand firmly with Sherlock Holmes in this matter."

Kieran's forehead wrinkled, much to the amusement of the rest of the group. "Sherlock Holmes?"

"Horses are dangerous on both ends and crafty in the middle."

Kieran just laughed and made him be friends with Red, who was more than happy to take the proffered grass from Mordred's shaking hand.

/

There was a small bridge farther down the stream that they used to cross. The horses, hoping for more handouts, simply splashed happily through the stream, Alexi occasionally running ahead and rolling exuberantly in the grass before coming back to placidly walk beside Geraint, who had subtly managed to drift closer to Will, who was clinging to Merlin to try and get away from Alexi, who was very curious about this person that his person liked, and Merlin was arm in arm with Gwaine, who was chattering a mile a minute about how much he freaking _loved horses OMFG._ Kieran was all but skipping, hand in hand with Mordred, who looked paranoid that killer horses would suddenly spring from the trees. Arthur had simply clambered up onto Hengroen and was lazily letting the horse head towards the next stop on the tour, the stables and track.

Kieran looked like he had died and gone to heaven the second the stables came into view. Uther had been a hunting fanatic, and had spared no expense to have his favorite hunter horses living in the lap of luxury. The stables stretched along a long track with two rings, one of grass, one of simple dirt, designed for the racehorses. Other corrals were spread around, a few walkers could be seen, and there was a large and small round pen.

"It's been so long since I've been near stables," he told Arthur happily as Arthur slithered off Hengroen's back. For a Thoroughbred, the horse was incredibly docile.

"Didn't you say something about your father…"

"_Si_, he's one of the horse trainers for the Royal Guard in Spain. My whole life has revolved around horses." Kieran's smile was dazzlingly bright. "My mother does trick riding half the year in Ireland, which is why we speak Spanish, technically Castilian, English and Irish. The rest of my family is pretty horse involved as well. That's why I got cut off- I love horses, but I really just want to be a chef."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Your father cut you off because you wanted to be a chef?"

"Well, there was also the fact that he caught me making out with my best friend on his bed…"

"That'd do it," Gwaine said, coming up to clap Kieran on the shoulder. "What say we head in, then?"

/

"Currently, there are 20 horses here. The outside guards patrol the perimeter on horseback, even with the turrets out and about. There's ten of them, so they each have a horse, and then there's my father's hunter horse, Peligoso."

Kieran grinned at that. "Dangerous."

Arthur paused in his lecture. "What?"

"The name. That's what it means. 'Dangerous.' It's Portuguese."

"Oh." Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur caught a sight of Geraint trying to lure Alexi over to his box. The horse was having none of it, and the eight hostler-boys in the area were grinning at him, despite the fact that not two hours ago one of them had been beaten badly enough to warrant stitches. He felt pleased at this development, and continued. "Most of them are mixed breed, largely Quarter Horse and Paint mixes and-"

Will raised his hand. "Beg pardon, but what are those, for us poor folk who haven't the foggiest what you're going on about?"

With perfect timing, four of the guards came in, leading their horses. Kieran launched into an explanation about color and size and the fact that Quarter Horses were so named for their ability to run a quarter of a mile very quickly, etc., etc. Will and Mordred both listened intently, and then nodded, Mordred with a bit more desperation. Gwaine was more concerned with the slender, bright eyed, and rather elderly looking Palomino that was trying to eat his hair.

"Right. So, the one who's in love with Gwaine is Kona, and she was my mother's horse. She and some of the others are acting as therapy horses now, since they're so well trained and good with kids."

Kieran promptly dragged Mordred over to go make friends with Kona, and Arthur led the rest through the stalls, letting them wander and coo at the horses. Will seemed particularly taken with a little brown Welsh Pony, who was named Jake, and even dared to reach in and touch him. Merlin wandered over to go and talk with the hostlers, and Gwaine stared in awe at one of the huge Andalusian horses, a gelding that had been dubbed Guingalet. Guingalet made it clear that Gwaine's hair looked like a snack.

Peligoso's stall was the closest to the door, largely because the enormous, disturbingly intelligent beast liked to escape and run wild. The less space in the stable he had to knock over things the better was the logic, and Arthur could see that the black horse was already plotting his next escape. He scowled at the huge animal, and was unsurprised when Kieran appeared at his side, letting out a gasp.

"_This_ is Peligoso?"

"Mmhmm."

Kieran beamed. "We _trained_ him! I remember! Papa hated him, because he was so stubborn, so I got to help because we got along well."

"…You trained my father's horse?"

"Oh yes. Is he ridden much anymore?"

"Not since my father moved to the sunny Caribbean, no."

Kieran nodded sharply, as if having made a decision. "I'd be happy to exercise him for you."

"…Alright then."

/

Dinner was a relaxed affair. After they'd returned to the house, Merlin had insisted on having dinner privately so they could talk amongst themselves about what to do next.

He was now sitting in the Pendragons' spacious private dining room, and felt more at home than he had in months. The room was centered on a long oval table, comfortable high back chairs surrounding it. The place was painted in warm blues and browns, with hints of gold spread around to make people aware of where they still were, but not so much as to be ostentatious. The room was large, but homier than the rest of the building. One wall was full of windows that looked out to the front of the house and towards the driveway, and they had been opened to let a pleasant breeze blow through. It had been a long time since he'd sat in this room, he thought absently as Gwaine's hand rested on his leg. His own hand slipped down and reassuringly squeezed Gwaine's. Gwaine, while taken with the place, was clearly uncomfortable. This was the kind of place he could have grown up in, if his father hadn't left, after all. Gwaine seemed a bit calmer, and returned to his food. Will was only picking at his, eyes occasionally flicking up to watch as Geraint came in and out of the room with information for Arthur. Kieran and Mordred were seated together, and so seemed to gravitate to each other. The group talked and laughed and made light conversation, waiting until everyone was settled to discuss how things were to be done next.

Once dessert had arrived (a cold cheesecake that Will latched onto like a starving man who's sighted steak, and Kieran pronounced 'surprisingly good') and then been cleared away, everyone settled in for the discussion.

"I think that it's safe to say that we'll be working from the house," Arthur announced.

Gwaine nodded approvingly, and Merlin inclined his head, a bit reluctantly.

"You have a video conference room?" Gwaine asked briskly.

"Yes, there's one set up in the event of something like this happening. I'll use it with a few of the clients or invite them out here. You'll need it?"

"At least to run press conferences, as somebody's likely to notice that you're gone and want to know why." Gwaine ran his fingers through his hair in contemplation. "Gwen can probably handle anything they throw at her, and my two little intern-creatures need a chance to spread their proverbial wings in any case. Owain needs some experience, and Drea just needs more confidence. They'll be fine, and if I can conference with them say, once every two days, I think it'll be good."

Arthur nodded.

"I'll still have to be at work and school, and Kieran can hardly just drop out when he's this close to finishing," Mordred pointed out. Arthur nodded again.

"You'll have guards sent with you. Kieran, once you're done with classes, come straight back here. Same goes for Mordred when work finishes. I'll make arrangements with the school- I donated half the money for the new library and most of the money for the Opera House, it's not like they can really tell me no."

Will gave him a long look and drawled, "So _this _is how the other side lives…"

/

"Your room, sir."

"It's Will, really." Will looked nervously around as one of the footmen flipped on the lights. It was small, painted dark blue with occasional gold highlights making the walls sparkle, with an attached bathroom, a vanity, and a canopy bed, as well as a plush armchair and a window that opened onto a small balcony. He'd been placed in a room that overlooked the gardens, which was nice. If he squinted he could see small white shapes still running about- some of the horses preferred sleeping out of doors.

"Okay. You've got everything?"

"Yep."

"Alright. Mr. Arthmael and _Senor _Gonzales are in the suite three doors down on the right, should you need them, and Mr. Emrys and his man are in the physician's suite on the third floor. Sleep well, Will."

Will smiled as brightly as he could manage. "Thanks."

The door closed, and he slumped to the floor, burying his face in his hands. Lifting his head, he looked around the room, and hugged himself, feeling very, very alone for the first time in eleven long years.

"Sleep well indeed," he muttered darkly, and proceeded to pull the blankets off the bed and make a nest in the corner. It was going to be a long, long night.

/

"We're sleeping in the same bed that Gauis did?"

"Yes- Don't look at me like that, I grew up in this suite!"

"But…It's _Gaius's bed!_ I can feel my libido wilting in terror as we speak!"

"Oh, shut up."'

Sheets were fluffed, bodies flopped in, rearranged, shuffled, muttered about, and then silence reigned supreme. For about, oh, a minute.

"I love you."

"I know."

"…Merlin?"

"Mm?"

"I miss our bed."

"So do I, love, so do I. No! Get your icy cold feet _off_ of me!"

"I loooove youuuu-"

"Shut it."

/

**The Orlov horse began development by a man named Count Alexi Orlov. He owned the horse that is considered the foundation sire, an Oriental stallion named Smetanka. Thus, the ha-ha moment with Geraint and Kieran. Another fun fact, horses are not actually white unless they're true albinos. They're considered "grey", but for the purposes of this story, there are called white horses, as most "grey" horses look pretty buggering white. Orlovs can come in "grey", though, so that is correct. I know, it's confusing, but I didn't come up with it. **

**As to why Geraint Chase is called Chase by some people and Geraint by others- Arthur and Merlin grew up knowing him as Geraint, and so do not call him Chase, which was what they called his father. There'll be more on his history later, as well as more about Kieran's family, I promise.**

**For more information on Orlovs, Palominos, Appaloosas, Paints, Quarter Horses, Thoroughbreds, and Andalusians (now more commonly known as Pure Spanish Horses), please consult Google or myself (though I'd trust Google more. Seriously. I know about horses, but I don't know as much as the almighty internets). Questions, comments, concerns, and general WTF-ness can be directed to me through the little blue review button. **


	15. Byrds of Prey

**I don't own Merlin.**

**Byrds of Prey is by Bertie Blackman.**

**/**

At exactly 7:00 AM the following morning, the group found themselves being pulled out of bed by loud knocks on the door from the footmen, who were all disgustingly cheerful. Merlin and Gwaine made no small noise of their displeasure at being awake so early. It certainly didn't help that Gwaine stalked to the door stark naked, and that Merlin was far from happy when the footman rather enjoyed the view. Will flat out slammed the door in the kid's face, swearing furiously. Kieran just blinked absently and went over to tug weakly against Mordred's sleeve, mumbling weakly in Spanish that had Mordred jumping upright and trying to attack whatever had disturbed him, only to realize who he was trying to kill at which point he nearly had heart failure. Kieran just blinked at him and looped his arms around Mordred's waist, quietly murmuring things in Spanish that Mordred didn't even try to comprehend.

Slowly, they all made their way to the ballroom, where Arthur was already wide awake and deliriously happy. The group just glared and threw themselves into chairs, sulking. The ballroom was set up with a long table full of food running down the center. A short table on the East side was where the family and the main guests sat, the West where those in the shelter sat. Two other long tables ran North and South, the outdoor workers sitting on the South side, the inside workers on the North. Geraint Chase presided over the inside workers, sitting at the head of the table, while the head of the outdoor table was empty. The people seemed to sit according to seniority, and the seats on either side of Chase were empty. Four total on each table sat open.

"Pancakes?" Arthur asked cheerfully as Merlin flopped into the chair on his right.

Merlin gave him a look that suggested murder was a definite possibility that morning.

Arthur beamed. "Isn't it just so great when I'm the one more awake than you, _Mer_lin?"

/

"I'm going to Mass."

Merlin choked on his bacon, which was a shame, because whoever had cooked it had done it _perfectly_. He pulled himself together and looked up. "Beg pardon?"

Will seemed totally serious, despite the fact that he looked like someone had run him over with a car. His neck had turned into a marvelous series of purple and green bruises from where the oversized, bulked up Dorocha had grabbed him. "I'm going to Mass. I don't care if the Monsignor consigns me to Hell, I am going to church for the first time in nearly twenty years come rain, snow, sleet, or hail of bullets. The Boss is not going to stop me, not today."

"…Will. In case you haven't noticed, people were trying to kill you yesterday."

"…So?"

"Can the Monsignor consign you to Hell if you aren't of the same religion?" Gwaine asked mildly, pausing between bites of scrambled egg. Will and Merlin shrugged.

"Dunno." Will speared another piece of bacon triumphantly. "But I'm going to Mass. I said I would yesterday, and so I will. Besides, it's been a while and it's nice to feel properly guilty when someone's railing on you about the Ten Commandments and such."

Merlin looked distinctly guilty for a moment. Will narrowed his eyes. "What's that face for?"

"The fourth commandment."

"_Honraras_ _a tu padre y a tu madre, __para que tus días__se alarguen en la__tierra que Jehová__tu Dios te da_," Kieran announced firmly from the other side of Arthur, and popped a grape in his mouth. Swallowing, he caught sight of them staring. "What? Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. Fourth commandment, King James Version of the Bible, Exodus chapter twenty verse twelve. My father beat that one into my head before I could walk."

"What… you know, never mind. Why is it bothering you, Merlin?" Will returned his gaze to Merlin.

"I haven't talked to my mom in a long time…"

"Yeah… might want to do that…"

"Mmm…"

The two stared at the table as Gwaine stole some of Merlin's toast.

"You're not going to let me go, are you?"

"Nope. I'd have the guards take you down before you set a foot out the gate."

"…Next week?"

"…We'll see."

/

_Click._

"_Wei?_"

"Ni hao, 'Garrah. Listen, I just thought I'd let you know we arrived."

"_Where are you, again?_"

"I'm at Arthur's right now. We had a problem come up with some extremely bad tempered, bulked up Dorocha- the ones that Lance was talking about, the Boss's Dogs."

"_Lovely. Anything else I should know about?"_

"Not so far as I can think of."

"_Good. I'll be bringing Lance in to talk with you and Arthur soon- we need a plan of attack, and he can provide us with a place. I had a word with the warden and a few judges- Lance is now under something akin to house arrest, and thus has to be within 50 feet of me at all times._"

"You want to bring him here? To the home of the man he attacked?"

"_He had information, and Arthur can pull that self-righteous shtick all he likes, but we need Lance, all the same."_

"Alright, 'Garrah. _Zai jian_."

"_Zai jian."_

_Click._

/

"I don't get it."

The day was already coming to an end, and Merlin and Arthur had gone down to the fountain-pond, sitting and staring at the water.

"What is it?" Merlin asked.

Arthur picked up a small rock, turning it in his hands as he stared at the ground. "Geraint left the estate two days ago," he admitted quietly. Merlin's eyebrows shot up. "I know," Arthur continued. "I was just as shocked. But…I had him followed."

"You had your own butler followed?"

Arthur scowled. "Geraint hasn't set foot out of here for nearly four years, Merlin, and he just decided to up and leave? I was a bit concerned. I thought…maybe one of …of _them_ had contacted him or something."

Merlin winced. Arthur and Geraint were still wary of each other, Geraint having had it beaten into his head that he was _never_ to interrupt the Pendragons except in matters of absolute crisis. His father had been the butler before him, and it had always just been assumed that Geraint would just take over. He'd been groomed for the role, and been shoved into it without a thought when his father died. He'd never even had a conversation with Arthur before assuming the role, and had had precious little to do with Merlin. He'd gone to school in the city, which hadn't helped him to relate to Arthur in the least. For a while after he'd been shoved into being the butler, he would go and escape into the city to get away from his responsibilities, but had stopped after three attempts at having a relationship had ended with a positively disastrous rejection. After that, Geraint had shut down, by all accounts, devoting himself to his work and refusing to leave the estate. When Merlin had finally returned to Camelot, he'd found a much different person than when he'd left. The staff all knew the story, and it was an open fact that should any of _those _people show up, they would find themselves with turret bullets in their bodies and horse manure all over them. The thought of Geraint actually looking for one of _them_ was terrifying.

"And?"

Arthur swallowed hard. "He found Will."

"…Beg pardon?"

"He found William Smithson, sitting on a bench, and propositioned him."

Dead silence.

"That's not funny, Arthur."

"I'm well aware of that, which is why I'm telling you." Arthur wove his fingers together. "I don't know why. There were a million and one other people out-"

"Don't." Merlin rested his head in his hands, his heart heavy. "Don't tell me. I don't care. They know each other, they haven't said a word about it, and people…people need love, Arthur. I don't want to…" his voice choked up.

A heavy arm draped over his shoulder. "I know."

They sat staring at the fountain.

"So, what do we do?"

Merlin sighed, leaning against Arthur for a second. "I guess…I guess we let them figure it out."

/

The days passed slowly, falling into a routine. Breakfast was at 7:00, as normal. Kieran and Mordred would leave with their respective guards at 7:45. Will would return to his room and lock himself in until 12, when he would return, have food, and then lock himself in again. Kieran would return at 3:00, and Will would emerge, looking exhausted and a bit haunted and go down to the porch, where he would sit and talk with Marcella and her children as Kieran went to work out Peligoso. Mordred would return at 5:00 and go watch Kieran, then go and chat with Will. The two had become good friends, and had a similar sense of humor, which ensured that Will kept smiling and relaxed a bit. This was important, because Will was beginning to look sick, smiling less and less, and bags were developing under his eyes. His silences and moods became longer and longer. Kieran and Mordred discussed this, late at night in the suite they shared, but had no clue what to do about it.

Arthur would storm out at 5:30, stretch dramatically, and flop down onto the nearest patio couch and nap for a bit. Merlin and Gwaine spent most of the day running messages back and forth to each other and Arthur, calling people and generally looking harried. Dinner was generally grabbed when and wherever possible, and it escaped no one's notice that Geraint had stopped eating at the table during dinners. At 8:30, people would drag themselves out onto the porch, and Mordred would fetch his violin. Sometimes Geraint would bring his cello down from the music room and play duets with him. Will found a chanter that was still in decent repair, and after a few days of cajoling, pleading, and eventually bribing, Arthur brought down a set of bagpipes and the two played reels. Sometimes the group played lively dance music, with Celtic and fiddle variations, but sometimes it was just quiet and melancholy. The music would go for hours sometimes, though everyone typically made it to bed by 11.

And that was how things were a week later, on Friday night.

/

Precisely a week after they arrived at 9:30 PM, Geraint found himself locking up Alexi's box. The music time had been short that night, leaving him time for one last ride around the pastures. The horse gave him an annoyed look- as Alexi was by Peligoso, he was developing a talent for escaping due to a disturbing amount of intelligence. Geraint smiled tiredly and rubbed at his forehead, heading outside. It was getting darker now, the air cooling off as the twilight deepened towards night.

A shadow detached from the building, and he almost pulled his gun before seeing that it was Will. Relaxing, he watched as Will stalked towards him, looking extremely annoyed and very tired.

"Will, what-"

His sentence was cut off due to the fact that Will had grabbed him and pulled him down into a searing kiss.

When the two finally separated for air, Will growled, "I haven't slept for a whole damn week, Geraint Chase, and it is entirely your fault."

Chase blinked, trying to convince his brain that working was a good idea.

"It's been eleven years since I've slept alone, and now I can't so much as roll over without wondering where the other person is, and they aren't there, and you're _warm_ and comfortable and safe, dammit, and I can't sleep in a room by myself after eleven years of cuddling with people I don't know and listening to the sounds of people sleeping in a big room and I'm _alone_ and _scared_ and I'm sick in the head and I hate it and you won't _talk_ to me!" Will burst out, taking deep, heaving breaths.

"Move in with me?"

There was a long pause.

"What?"

Chase swallowed hard. "It could work," he said softly. "Neither of us really has anyone, and…and I'd like to give this a chance, and I guess it'd be a lie if I said I wasn't miserably lonely and you are too and I can't sleep anymore, and I've got the room, whole suite to myself and it's not like I like it, being all alone and cooped up in there and…and yeah. Please?"

Will stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"…Yes?"

"…Alright."

Chase blinked. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Now hurry up and help me get my stuff before I decide that a week of being celibate is too long and have my wicked way with you on the lawn."

/

"He _what_?" Merlin demanded, gaping at the footman. The man cringed, and cringed even farther when Gwaine loomed up from the depths of the darkened suite, coming over to stand by Merlin and looking extremely displeased. The footmen had a terrible sense of timing, it seemed, and Gwaine was beginning to think that barricading the door was an excellent plan.

"Sorry, Mr. Emrys, but he's already gathered his things and gone."

"You're _serious_? He just…he just up and moved in with him?"

The man nodded meekly. "He seemed kind of relieved, actually. Didn't have much to take with him, but Mr. Chase carried it off all the same. Seems they're already well installed, and, erm, they don't seem to be intending to come out any time soon if the look on Mr. Chase's face was anything to go by."

"What's this about?" Gwaine asked, looking back and forth between the two, running a hand through his mussed hair. The footman looked like he wanted to back off as fast as possible.

"Will moved in with Geraint."

"…The butler? _Why_? They aren't exactly the most compatible of people."

"Yes, about that…" Merlin waved the footman away, and closed the door.

/

The following morning, the ballroom filled with people for breakfast. The cooks all gossiped, the hostlers teased each other, the maids laughed and joked amongst each other, and yet the high table was suspiciously quiet. There was a distinct lack of a certain member of their normal morning gossip, and the head seat of the inside workers table was gapingly open.

Neither Will nor Geraint had yet arrived, and Arthur's mouth was a thin white line. Merlin sat at rigid attention on his right, Mordred reclining and attempted to look relaxed despite the tenseness of his shoulders on his left. Gwaine looked oddly somber, and was picking at his food while Kieran ignored the lot of them and dug into a pile of pancakes.

A few of the footmen finished straggling in, and the two missing followed after them. Merlin sat up, looking intently at the two. He had every intention of grabbing Will and demanding he talk to him, but Will clearly had other plans as Geraint took his normal place at the head of the table.

Will sat neatly in the seat on Geraint's right, the seat that was always held open.

Conversation immediately stopped. Geraint lifted his head and stared icily across the room.

"Well?" His voice was like a gunshot, breaking the silence, and everyone immediately lowered their heads and returned to talking, albeit with more furtive glances at the two. They had calmly started eating, Geraint looking happier than he had in years, and Will was smiling widely.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin.

Merlin shrugged, sighed, and gave him the "what can you do" look. It appeared that mornings were going to be a lot more gossip-filled from now on.

/

True to form, Will badgered Arthur into letting him take Geraint and a car into town for Mass on Sunday.

Also true to form, Arthur did not tell Merlin.

/

Kilgarrah's Rolls Royce came up the drive on Monday afternoon at 3:00 sharp, fitting in perfectly with the ultra-dramatic scenery of Camelot. Arthur watched the car from a window in the second floor study, Merlin hovering beside him, Gwaine lounging on a couch in the background and fiddling with one of the paperweights that he had liberated from Arthur's desk. Geraint waited by the door, shifting uncomfortably back and forth.

"So he brought the traitor…" Arthur murmured quietly as Christian ricocheted out the passenger side door, pulling forward the chair to let Lance out. The man looked exhausted, and thinner than Merlin remembered. A suit hung limply on his frame, and he walked slowly, with Christian next to him to act as a crutch. His hands had been cuffed. Kilgarrah took his time leaving the car, but emerged in silver Armani, half of his hair elaborately braided into a series of delicate loops and whirls against his head, the rest cascading freely down his back. A few of the charms that he tended to reserve for family occasions had been braided in as well, and glittered as they caught the sunlight.

Merlin winced. Kilgarrah had come dressed for war, and Arthur hadn't missed that fact.

"Where do you want to receive them, sir?" Geraint looked like he wasn't to run far, far away.

Arthur scowled down at their guests as Lance glanced around before being led inside. "The red room."

Geraint blanched, but nodded. "I'll have them wait in the hallway, sir."

"The hallway?" Arthur turned to glower at him. For once, Geraint didn't back off.

"The red room was closed off and lined with dust covers five months ago, sir, on your orders. It will take at least half an hour to get it presentable."

Arthur's jaw clenched, and Geraint half-flinched, as if he was expecting to be hit. Merlin tensed, and Gwaine's head shot up, eyes sparking warily at the tension that snapped through the room. Arthur forced himself to relax, and muttered, "Send them to the normal sitting room, then. I want at least two guards in there as well, and send in a few of the turret wives."

Geraint inclined his head.

"Yes, sir."

/

Lance had originally been seated in between Christian and Kilgarrah on the sofa, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The"originally" bit was because once Christian had spotted the turret wives, he had ricocheted off the sofa and over to the turrets, crooning happily at them. He was now holding one in his lap, and sitting across from Lance on the loveseat that was normally occupied by Mordred and Kieran.

Arthur felt a headache coming on very fast.

Mordred and Kieran were both at school, thankfully, though they would be back in an hour or so. Gwaine had commandeered Will's normal chair (where exactly Will was, no one knew, seeing as he'd decided to vanish after breakfast and Geraint wasn't much for talking) and Merlin prowled around the room, looking like he wanted to murder something or someone. Arthur just dropped onto the fainting couch and Geraint stepped up behind him, looking like he would like nothing better than to use the shotgun resting behind him.

Lance ducked his head, clasping his hands together. Silence reigned, broken only by the sound of Merlin's feet on the carpet as he paced.

"All of the employees here are required to carry some sort of weapon on their person at all times," Arthur stated calmly. "Try to run and you won't make it to the door."

Lance bobbed his head, refusing to look up. He kept wringing his hands, his fingers shaking slightly. Kilgarrah's eyes flicked over to watch Merlin, who'd paused in his agitated pacing and had gone to glare out the window.

"Merlin," he called softly. Merlin sighed, and came over to perch on the arm of the chair that Gwaine sat in. Gwaine's arm snaked around to rest on his hip almost proprietarily, and Arthur felt his teeth clench. Gwaine was an excellent PR man, and kept Merlin happy and safe, but that didn't mean that he liked them being together. Merlin was still something he considered _his_, for all that Merlin was far from being his lover these days. And then there was Gwen, who was single-handedly holding down the fort, more or less, back at the offices. She was surrounded by people 24/7, and no one was quite willing to try and take on both Percival and Elyan in order to get at her. She was at least protected, and while he would have preferred to have her firmly ensconced in the panic room at Camelot, she was the one who was keeping everything and everyone from falling apart. It was immensely frustrating.

Kilgarrah relaxed into the cushions. "Shall we begin, then?"

Lance shifted uncomfortably as everyone looked at him, looking up through his bangs.

"Let's start with how you found the Boss," Arthur said simply.

Lance swallowed hard. "It wasn't so much that I found him as my sister did- she got in too deep with his sharks, and he took her things and then her. There's a woman called the Cailleach who does nothing but arrange things for the Boss, pick targets for the Dorocha and arrange for drugs and such. She dug up everything on me, and sent me a note, telling me where to go and who to ask for. She sent me to a club run by a man named Helios, who sent me to a man on the wrong side of town- a big, fat guy who liked cigars and I realized that he wasn't the real boss right off, but there wasn't anything I could do. So I just went with it."

"Who was the one who gave you your orders?"

"The false Boss would give them to Helios, and I would go to the club to receive them-"

The door swung open to reveal an exhausted, haunted looking Will, carrying his black notebook. He stalked forward and pointed a shaking finger at Lance. "Helios. You said Helios. Are you telling me that Helios, owner of five restaurants and three clubs, and lover of all things regarding sadism and masochism, preferably the application of both, is the contact man?"

Lance stared at him. "You know Helios?"

Will smiled without a trace of humor. "You could say I know him intimately. He's a nasty piece of work." He stalked to the chairs and muttered at Arthur to budge over. Arthur was startled enough to do so, and Will dropped the notebook on the table.

A rather grimy picture of a man crossing the street, talking on his phone, dominated the top left of the page. The group leaned in, and Lance nodded.

"Yes, that's him."

"Will, where were you?" Merlin asked.

"I was just off being stupid," Will mumbled, casting a dirty look at the notebook. "I was walking by and heard the name Helios and went to listen, and then... yeah, just came in. Sorry."

"It's okay. You might have some useful information," Merlin said simply, then clasped his hands together. "Right… so, what are we going to do?"

"Well…I have an idea," Gwaine offered.

/

Mordred, for once, arrived home before Kieran, and came into the sitting room to find Arthur crouched down, trying to convince Christian to give up the turret wife, Merlin and Gwaine having a quiet, heated argument in low voices in the corner, Geraint looking dramatically wistful and bored, Will flipping through the pages of a black notebook with a face like thunder, Kilgarrah massaging his forehead, and Lance Allot trying to burrow himself into the couch cushions. The burrowing got a lot more fevered when Lance caught sight of him, and Mordred gave him his most vicious, sharp-toothed smile, deliberately slow. The former head of Internal Affairs cowered in terror, eyes like soup plates. Mordred stalked over to the loveseat and dropped into it, giving Kilgarrah a much more pleasant smile.

"Hello, _Baba_."

That managed to quirk a tiny smile out of Kilgarrah. Mordred counted Kilgarrah as more of a father than his biological one ever was, and called him accordingly.

"Hello, Mordred. How was class?"

"Boring, as always, but I'm close to done, so I suppose it doesn't matter." He glanced over as Merlin lifted his hands in a motion of exasperation. "What're those two going on about?"

"Oh, Gwaine just had an idea that Merlin doesn't much like."

"Wha-"

"Oh, so this is where everyone is!"

Mordred burst into a dazzling smile and jumped up to go and wrap Kieran in a hug. "There you are."

Kieran grinned at him, resting his head on Mordred's chest for a second before gently pulling back. "Class went a bit long today- one of the idiots forgot he had a quiche in the oven, and things got messy. Who're they?"

"Oh, right," Mordred turned to look at the two. "Over there is Christian. He's an ex-Dorocha who's living with Kilgarrah. Kilgarrah is the tall, handsome devil with silver hair. He's my adoptive father, and he's all sorts of wonderful." Kilgarrah grinned at that, inclining his head. "And then the one next to him is the cruel, despicable traitor that I-" Mordred bit back his words. While Kieran had seen him do basic attacks, but the fact that he could go into a full blown berserker rage at the drop of a hat was something he'd like to keep as quiet as possible. "Lance Allot. He's just the one who betrayed Arthur."

"Oh." Kieran gave him a long look. "So you're the one who's responsible for my rape."

Lance went ash white, and Kilgarrah went still. Will's head came up sharply, and Geraint stiffened. The rest ignored the abrupt tension, continuing with their discussions.

Mordred's grip tightened, and Kieran gently pried his fingers off his arm, going over to stand in front of Lance, who cowered even further into the couch. Kilgarrah watched with mild interest. Kieran gently reached out and cupped Lance's cheek, staring intently at him. Lance flinched, lowering his eyes.

"Look at me," he murmured quietly, and Mordred watched his knuckles whiten with pressure.

Lance warily did, trembling slightly.

Kieran's face gentled. "I see," he murmured. "You've lost something important, haven't you?"

Lance stared in blank shock, jaw falling open. "How…"

"It's alright," Kieran said softly, smiling quietly. "It's not your fault- it's Edwin Muirden's. I apologize for that remark, it was rude and untrue."

Lance dropped his eyes, shamefaced, and Kieran went over to sit by Mordred on the loveseat.

There was an outburst in Merlin and Gwaine's direction, and the group turned in time to see Merlin throw up his hands and announce, "Fine!"

He turned and stomped back towards the group. Arthur gave up and released Christian, who kept a hold of the turret wife and scurried back to sit at Kilgarrah's feet. They group reassembled, and Arthur gave Gwaine and Merlin a long look. "Alright," he announced, sounding very annoyed. "Let's hear this plan."

Gwaine smirked. "Go clubbing, find Helios, beat him to a bloody pulp, find the false Boss, and get the info on how to find the real Boss."

There was a long moment of silence.

"_That's _your plan?" Mordred drawled, feeling his eyebrows shoot up.

Gwaine nodded.

Kilgarrah whispered something in what sounded like German and raised his face to the sky, muttering something in Spanish that had Kieran bursting into a peal of almost anxious laughter. Christian cocked his head and made a loud, confused chirping noise, not unlike a small bird. Lance just looked flabbergasted.

"As much as I hate to say this," Will said slowly, "It could work. The Boss has been in control for so long, he's probably gotten a little sloppy, right? So if we could get Helios…"

There was another moment of silence, and then Merlin said, "Go on…"

Will smiled slightly.

"Right, so, Helios runs a lot of clubs, but his favorite is Kitu ni Giza. Swahili for "doom and gloom"- again, this man has a thing for strange names, he's not even remotely Swahili- and that is where he spends most of his time. It's three stories, one for the main club, one for his VIP's, and one for his home. Now, Helios doesn't go down into Kitu ni Giza very often, he mostly stays up in the VIP section or his own apartment. This means that all we would have to do is get into Kitu no Giza's VIP section, and bam, you're right at his front door."

The group gaped. Will shrugged self-consciously. "I also know his inside pant leg and what his favorite foods are, as well as all the members of his family and where they live. You want those too?"

Kieran's mouth was a little "o" of surprise. "Why do you know all this?"

"Blackmail," Will said cheerfully. "This book is my insurance."

The group all looked down at the forlorn black notebook like it was about to explode.

"Sooo," Gwaine said slowly. "Can you get us in?"

"I'll have to call in a few favors and pick up a few things of a delicate nature, but yes, I can get us in."

There was another pause.

"Delicate nature?" Merlin hazarded a bit warily.

"The door guards are something akin to friend of mine, and have some very strange kinks, for people who work at a fight club."

"… _Fight club_?"

/

While everyone exploded over the news of Kitu ni Giza being a fight club, Kieran stared at the picture of Helios. He felt as though he'd seen the man before, but nothing was coming to him. Shrugging, he leaned back and listened as Will explained that Kitu ni Giza was more of a "come and show off your so-called 'skillz', college boy" type of deal than a fully blown fight club. There was a bar and dance floor as well, and the upstairs was where the _real_ fights went on.

/

It wasn't until he woke up screaming in the middle of the night, memories crashing back with the force of a tsunami, that Kieran realized where he'd seen Helios before.


	16. Getting Scared

**I don't own Merlin.**

**Getting Scared is by Imogen Heap.**

**/**

"So," Will said from where he'd flopped onto the couch, his robe wrapped tightly around himself, "It was Helios? You're certain?"

Kieran nodded, though it was hard to tell. After waking up screaming, Mordred had dashed in to find out what was wrong, and had since swaddled him into his arms. He was flatly refusing to let go. "I'll see that face in my mind for the rest of my life," he whispered. "I…It wasn't him who did the branding, that was what's his name, Edwin. He…he did the rest. I didn't think I'd ever remember, but I guess the picture was enough to mess with my head."

"Dear lord almighty," Will murmured. "This just got a lot more complex." He stood and went over to gently touch Kieran's shoulder. "Kier, look at me."

Kieran's eyes flicked up from where he was nestled under Mordred's chin. Mordred glared for a moment before backing down and holding Kieran a bit tighter.

"You aren't broken," Will said gently. "Maybe a bit banged up, but you're not broken and you're certainly not damaged goods. I know that the next while will be hell for you, but you've got people here who are more than just pretty decorations. They've been in some pretty bad places, and I think it'd be a bit hypocritical if they couldn't help. Look, I just want you to do a lot of talking, alright? And see one of the people who come to work with them as live in the West Wing."

Kieran nodded. "I will," he promised quietly.

Will eyed him, and seemed satisfied with whatever he found there. "I imagine so," he said quietly. "I'll leave you two to it then." Hiking his robe a bit tighter, he let himself out, and Kieran very quietly began to talk.

/

To say breakfast was a subdued affair was possibly one of the biggest understatements Gwaine could imagine. Geraint and Will were both conspicuously absent, as were Mordred and Kieran. Merlin picked at his food, clearly lacking any appetite. Arthur didn't even bother with the pretense of food, just brooded in his chair and glared over the occupants of the room. Gwaine, however, had no intentions on starting the day with any less than a full stomach, and muscled his way through scrambled eggs and bacon. Half an hour later, when he and Merlin were headed down the hall to the conference room where everything was set up, Will materialized out of nowhere, looking hassled and a bit annoyed.

"Well hi there," Gwaine drawled, taking in the fact that Will once again was wearing the cheap, fake leather and fur coat. Merlin seemed to have noticed as well, and was frowning slightly.

Will looked slightly frazzled. "Hey. Have you seen Arthur?"

"Why?"

"His Highness just texted Geraint to tell him that we, collectively, are going shopping this afternoon. _Why are we shopping_? I just need to call people- well, drop by one person's place, but that's not exactly a big deal-"

"Shopping?"

"Yeah, shopping. Go figure. Doesn't he have enough designer suits?"

A portion of the wall slid back to reveal an annoyed Geraint, who stormed out, talking on his phone. The three stared as he slid the wall back into place, still arguing angrily with whoever was on the other end.

"Yes, 3 o'clock, and I don't care if you have to haul the man out of bed, we will be there, and Mr. Pendragon isn't exactly a patient man. I want to be in and out- we still have to go to Tiffany's and half a dozen other stupid places for various things- No, I do not care if you have to nuke Russia to get him awake, tell him to get his sorry body up and ready to deal with the man who controls whether or not he'll survive the fiscal year. No, ma'am, my personal life is none of your concern. I am a butler, damn you, and I have no intention of telling you why this is urgent, but if he doesn't have himself up and dressed in that tasteless Westwood he favors there will be Hell to pay and you, madam, will be footing the bill. Good day!" Geraint slammed the phone into his pocket, gave one preoccupied glance at the three people staring at him in baffled awe and froze, clearly horrified.

"I think," Gwaine said in the silence, "That that was the most I've ever heard you say at one time."

"I'm so sorry you had to hear all of that," Geraint whispered, looking absolutely mortified. Merlin grinned.

"It's refreshing, hearing you swear, can I just tell you that?"

Geraint went brilliant pink, and mumbled, "You're all excused for the day, apparently, and to meet Mr. Pendragon in the garage. Excuse me." He scurried away before anything else could be said.

The three paused, and Will grinned. "Garage it is, then."

/

Mordred woke up with a crick in his neck and an all but nonexistent air supply. Blinking blearily, he realized that he and Kieran must have fallen asleep on the couch. While this was normally fine, the couch being an enormous monstrosity of soft leathers and over stuffed comfort, Kieran was squishing him. He fought back a bit of panic and made himself gently extricate his limbs from Kieran's loose grip. The smaller man made little, annoyed noises at the movement, but let himself be properly laid out on the couch. Sighing, Mordred ran agitated fingers through his hair and stumbled into the bathroom, rubbing at his eyes. He didn't quite dare look in the mirror until he'd thoroughly showered and forced himself into the charming, slightly slutty person that was his normal act for the day. Once he'd convinced himself to leave the warmth of the shower, he was somehow unsurprised to see the bruise-like shadows around his eyes. Groaning, he rubbed at them, and gave up. Getting dressed, he absently attempted to towel his hair dry, and went back out.

Kieran was just waking up, and clearly was none too happy about having to face the day.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he said softly, sitting on the couch and gently touching Kieran's shoulder.

Kieran groaned, and forced his eyes open. "Qué fastidio." Stretching, he yawned. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

Kieran groaned, squishing his eyes closed again. "I'm late, aren't I?"

Mordred glanced at the clock on the wall. The suite they shared, while not large, was bigger than both of their former apartments. There was the living room, where Mordred currently slept, and had his clothing stashed in the TV cabinet. The rooms were connected with an open archway that led into the small bedroom, which housed an enormous canopy bed, a table and two chairs, and the door into the bathroom. The paint and colors of the room were deep and earthy, mostly browns and greens, and in the living room was the door that led out to the small balcony, where Kieran's plants were flourishing. On the walls were various elegant paintings of landscapes and a few of horses. The clock was one of the other artworks, made of wrought iron and far too heavy-looking for the rest of the room, but too pretty to let go.

"Yeah. I am too, so it's all good."

Kieran sighed. "Hand me my phone?"

Mordred fetched it, and listened as Kieran called and explained to one of the chefs that there had been a family emergency, and that he wasn't sure when he'd be in, though he'd try to drop by that day to see what he would have to do to make up his work for the day. Once he'd hung up, Mordred gently rubbed his shoulders.

"You want me to go get breakfast?"

Kieran made a noncommittal noise into the couch, and Mordred grinned at him, leaning down to gently press a kiss to his cheek. "I can make the cook make you that soup you love."

Kieran's head moved up a little. "Olla Podrida?" he asked hopefully.

"Thought that would get you moving. Come on, let's get you 2up."

/

"Mordred's coming."

Merlin sighed, running a hand over his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. "Arthur. If Gwen had recently gotten back memories of being raped, would you be going out in public and leaving her alone?"

"Then we'll bring Kieran too, but I need him to go with Will."

Will bristled. "I don't need a babysitter, thank you. I survived 11 years on my own, and I'm not about to stop now."

They stood in the garage, millions of dollars' worth of vintage cars surrounding them. The fleet of Packard's sat in the far corner, right next to a brand new Cadillac Escalade, a battered Honda Civic that looked like it had survived a war, and a tandem bike that looked like it hadn't been touched since the fifties. Merlin's Desoto was there as well, occupying a small section all to itself. The garage itself was cleverly hidden in a stand of trees, some of which were fake. A series of carefully designed systems lifted the false trees near the round-about at the front of the house to reveal a second driveway that led to the garage, thus ensuring the beauty of the front yard, and strategically keeping the garage out of view. The garage also housed a small body shop, and a small repair shop capable of keeping the cars in excellent condition.

Gwaine groaned. "Look, we're going to Kilgarrah's shop anyway, right? We can just have Kieran stay there. Kilgarrah would kill anyone who dared to bother him."

"You're all assuming that Mordred and Kieran won't bolt and remain here," Geraint said quietly. "Kieran's had a nasty shock, and Mordred's probably not exactly feeling too stable."

Merlin let out a triumphant, "HA! Sense!"

Arthur gave him a condescending look. "Since when have I cared for sense?"

/

"I will have it known that I'm doing this only because Geraint promised me lots and lots of Swiss chocolates," Kieran announced grouchily from where he sat huddled by the window. Mordred nodded in agreement, glaring at the back of Arthur's head.

The group had piled into the Escalade, the only thing big enough to fit them all. Will, Kieran and Mordred had squished into the back, with Merlin and Gwaine taking the second row, Geraint driving after much angry debate with Arthur, and Arthur sulking in the passenger seat. The butler himself had both hands on the wheel, knuckles white with pressure and his lips pressed in a hard line.

The city came into view, and they wove their way through the streets until they spotted Kilgarrah's small shop. Squeezed between a tattoo parlor and what looked like a once-reputable Chinese food shop, Dragon Clothing and Alterations was small, low to the ground, and spotlessly clean. There was only one window, which looked in on a small reception area that had been decorated with some of Kilgarrah's weird trinkets from around the world. A pewter Buddha sat next to what looked like a Hawai'ian weapon with shark teeth around the edge, and several masks from an extremely varied set of cultures had been placed on the walls.

Geraint shooed Merlin, Gwaine, Kieran, Mordred, and Will out of the car with an exasperated, "We'll be back later. Shopping."

He sped away, and the group turned to step into the Dragon's lair.

/

"This will not do," Kilgarrah said firmly, eyeing Mordred with a critical once-over. "This will not do at all."

"What's the problem with this one!?" Mordred demanded, lifting his arms in exasperation. "It's a suit, 'Garrah, it's not supposed to be comfortable!"

The group had seriously decreased in numbers. Will had taken off to go "talk to a man about a dog", Merlin and Gwaine had slipped out for sandwiches at their favorite shop, and Geraint still hadn't returned with Arthur. Kieran had been swept up by a tiny Spanish woman who had dragged him off to talk to her and help her with some of the more complicated seams she was working on.

None of Kilgarrah's employees spoke English fluently. There were three women and two men- One Chinese, one Masai, one Hindi, one Greek, and one Spanish. It didn't really matter, though, because the boss spoke them all and could translate back and forth. Each had their own set of commissions, and they were quite comfortable with the tasks assigned to them. Kilgarrah treated his employee's like gold, and there was always a plate of food set out somewhere (with accompanying notice in all 6 languages to wash hands before returning to work), and without a doubt, the man adored the people who worked for him. They all came to him immediately if something went even the slightest bit wrong, and the trust that came with that was reassuring. They all talked to Christian too, in their own languages, not caring if the man understood or not.

Mordred had the jacket pulled off himself again, and sighed. He had the distinct feeling he wasn't getting out of the shop any time soon.

"Christian?"

There was a chirrup of noise from behind a rack of enormously poofy prom dresses, and Christian poked his head through them to look curiously at Kilgarrah.

"Could you get me the other suit-coat I was working on the other day?"

/

"Arthur, we're in a broom cupboard."

"Gwen, I had to sneak in."

"_Arthur. _For heaven's sake, you own the place, why do you insist on sneaking in like you're a criminal or something?"

"Because I can't be seen right now, okay?"

"_I'm_ seeing you. Well, figuratively, because it's pretty dark in here so it's more like feeling you know-"

And that was where the conversation promptly ended, because feeling was really all that needed to be done.

/

Geraint sat in the foyer of the PR section of Camelot Corp, and wondered how on Earth Gwaine had the patience for this sort of work. It seemed to be mostly consisting of lots of calling people, yelling at people, and popping antacids. Oh, and the occasional office romance. Well, broom cupboard romance, on Arthur's account. Elyan, Gwen's brother and someone Geraint decided he did not want to meet in a dark alley late at night, kept glowering in the direction the two had gone. Percival, who was by all accounts Elyan's lover of late, simply ignored it and kept plodding on through the paperwork.

_Maybe butlering isn't quite so bad as I thought._

/

"I have missed this so much."

"What, the sandwiches or the crappy motel room?"

"Bit of both, actually. _Mmmmmm_, that's good." Gwaine licked his fingers, eyes rolling in happiness. Merlin rolled his eyes in amusement, reclining back against his chest. "You know, the last time I had a liaison in a crappy motel, it was with my economics professor. Only reason I passed that class."

"You slept with your economics professor?"

"Ohhh yeah. Lived with him for a while too."

"…We're going to have a nice long talk one day about all your crazy love adventures."

Gwaine chuckled, leaning down to slowly kiss him, gentle and tender with a bit of lust. "Not today, though. I can think of _much_ better things to do."

/

Will had a headache.

"Look, this is ridiculous."

The too-pretty, gauge-wearing, mohawked man across the counter from him gave him a long look. "The fact you want _that_ is ridiculous." He pointed at a discreetly packaged box sitting on the top of the counter.

"I'm not paying more money on that than people do on crack, Kestrel!"

"Ah _ha_! So you've done crack!"

"What? No, you ass, I've got friends who did. I'm not an idiot!"

An enormous, burly, red-headed man stepped out from behind some curtains carrying a pair of handcuffs and long leather whip. "What's going on?"

"Your brother is trying to rob me blind!" Will said indignantly, pointing at the innocent looking box. "He wants 250 for that thing! Highway robbery, I tell you."

"Well, you aren't lying," the red-head said dryly. "You can take it on credit- I'll have you man the shop one week or something."

"Griflet!"

"Oh, shut up, you know how much I want to go to Cancun." Griflet tossed Will the box. "Now get out of here before someone sees you. That's the _last_ thing I need today, someone unwrapping that in here."

Will looked around at the bondage gear festooning the walls, and deadpanned, "Oh yes, whatever would they think."

/

One short trip to Tiffany's later (they'd gone to have polite, charming, and very scary words with the current head of the local branch, who had been a bit of a problem for Camelot of late), Geraint was heading towards Kilgarrah's store when, to his great surprise, Arthur announced, "Turn around. We're going to go to lunch."

"Lunch?"

"Yes, lunch," Arthur said, a shade testily as he pulled off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. "You know, that time in the middle of the day where we eat?"

"Well, yes, but…" Geraint considered how to phrase this, and went for blunt. "But I don't ever eat lunch with you. Ever. I'm a servant, you're my boss, we exist on two entirely different planes. Even when you and Merlin were together and _he_ brought you lunch you didn't eat with him. You though it was weird, remember? You wouldn't eat with him out of the room, but he couldn't eat while you were. You _don't_ eat with other people!" His voice was getting a bit hysterical. He forced it back to normal. "The point being that it's just odd."

"Too bad. We're doing lunch. Just the two of us."

"Lovely," Geraint muttered under his breath. "Where too then?"

"Jacqueline's."

Geraint's stomach plummeted. "I'm not exactly dressed for Jacqueline's." He'd gone incognito, which meant the only simple clothing he had, and thus the same set he'd met Will in. Jacqueline's was more of a suit-and-tie affair.

"If they give you any trouble I'll have nasty words with them."

"Of course, sir."

So they went to Jacqueline's, Geraint feeling more out of place than he ever had in his life. He'd only eaten at the place once, and it had been with one of his nastier exes. Hopefully today would go better than _that_ disastrous night. The place was all white marble and dramatically draped red curtains, and the maître'd looked scandalized when he saw what the two were wearing. A skinny looking waiter gave them equally shocked and admiring looks, as though he was shocked and pleased that they'd had the balls to come in without suits. The rest of the customers ignored them.

The admiring waiter sped back with their plates, and as Geraint delicately tasted the lamb chop with the tongue of a connoisseur who's had to sample every lamb for the past few years at dinner parties, he thought about how surreal it all was. There was Arthur, across from him, sipping a cabernet sauvignon with ease and his foie gras with dainty bites out of it. And here he was, in Jacqueline's, actually enjoying himself. Something in the world was very, very odd today.

"There's something I want to talk to you about," Arthur said once the lamb chop and the foie gras had been polished off.

Geraint looked at him, his stomach suddenly sinking. Arthur's face was cool and calm.

"Yes?"

"The night you left the house."

Geraint very deliberately put down his glass. His hands were shaking. "What about it?" He asked quietly.

"I had you followed."

Geraint froze, and then hissed furiously, _"You what_?!"

Arthur seemed taken aback, and then promptly recovered, snapping, "I was concerned you were going to try and off yourself or something!"

"Well it would be mine own bloody business if I did, wouldn't it?" Geraint was furious, but he was also terrified. He'd be _followed_? That meant that Arthur knew about…about Will…Oh god.

"You're firing me," he said abruptly, eyes going wide. "Oh, god, you're firing me. And I have no education, I have no talent, I have-I have no friends, oh god oh god-"

"Geraint-"

"I don't even have family any more, not after Uther had my father alienate himself from them, where am I going to go how-"

"GERAINT."

Geraint fell silent, staring at Arthur with huge panicked eyes. Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead and looking up at the ceiling as if for patience. "I should have known you'd take it like that."

"So you are-"

"NO, you ass! Shut up and listen to me! I was going to say that I'm relieved!"

Whatever Geraint was expecting, it hadn't been that. He gaped at Arthur like a fish for a few seconds, and then said weakly, "Beg pardon?"

"Good grief," Arthur muttered, though he had on a bit more of a smile now. "You hadn't been out of the house in four years, Geraint. It was about time. And about time to get laid, too, not, of course, that I would know about anything like that at all."

Geraint went brilliantly red, dropping his face into his hands. This was even worse than being fired. Being fired meant that he could leave and never see the guy again. This just meant that Arthur knew _everything_. Oh, he was so dead. He was deader than a dog at high noon on a highway. Oh, this was pointless. He should just hand in his resignation now, take his two weeks notice and escape to…to…Paris. Sure. Paris, that'd be good. Nice place, Paris. At least, he was pretty sure it was a nice place- he'd never actually _been_ there.

"I'll turn in my two weeks notice," he said weakly, fingering his plate.

"It'll disappear. You're _staying_, Geraint. I just wanted you to know."

Geraint dropped his head into his arms, groaning.

He was _never_ going to live this down.

/

The phone rang in the middle of Merlin's discourse on the idiocy of some people in Marketing, and he ignored it. He was very good at not answering phones. It went to voice mail.

Then they called again.

And _again_.

Finally, he picked up the phone, to Gwaine's great amusement.

Amusement turned to seriousness very fast when Merlin, staring at the phone like it was a dangerous, volatile explosive, said numbly, "It's my mother."

/

They were in the hospital a few minutes later, going up to the top of the place to stare at the body. It was cooling, and growing stiff, and Gwaine thought he'd never seen an uglier sight.

"So he's dead?" Merlin said, without inflection as his mother entered the room. She looked tired, but not sad, and went to him. They hugged for a moment, and then Hunith pulled away and said tiredly, "Yes. Finally. His heart just stopped, and they couldn't restart it. I told them it was about time, it's been, what, 7 years or so now? The benefactor wouldn't let him die, though, just kept sending the hospital the money."

Merlin looked down at his stepfather's slack face. "It's about time, yeah." He looked at his mother out of the corner of his eye. "I found Will."

Hunith's hand flashed to her mouth, not in time to stifle her gasp. "He's alive?"

"Yeah."

"What's he been _doing,_ the poor dear?"

Gwaine and Merlin exchanged looks, and Merlin said quietly, "That's a story for another day. But I'm sure he'd like to come see the body."

/

"He's dead."

"Yep."

"Really dead? He can't come back at all."

"Will, I'm pretty sure that if he had a soul, it's roasting in hell right now, okay? He's not coming back."

"You're sure?"

"_Yes_."

"Good. Then I won't feel bad about punching him where only the undertaker will see."

"Think Mom would notice if I broke a few of his toes?"

"…"

"…"

_Crack._

/

The ride back was quiet and uneventful. Everyone sat silent in the Escalade, and even when the Dalek trundled out of the woods to examine them, only Gwaine was able to manage a half smile.

As they walked up into the house, Will said quietly, "So tomorrow's the day."

"So it seems," Mordred replied, in equally quiet tones.

Will gave a ghost of a smile and looked over at him. "I think this could be quite cathartic, don't you agree?"

Mordred's smile was a razor blade when he looked back. "Yes, I think it might be."

/

The night was cool and dark. Wind rustled softly through the trees, sliding over bare skin like liquid, invisible silk in the darkness, rustling papers in the room that Merlin and Gwaine slept in. The sky was inky black, with a few faint stars speckling the sky and a distinct lack of moon. The curtains, white and long, blew fitfully back and forth in the breeze.

Merlin watched them, feeling oddly light, as though he were going to float up at any minute. The only thing that seemed to be anchoring him to the bed at all was the broad, heavy arm draped comfortably over his waist, and the soft bristle of a beard against his shoulder. Soft breathing resonated in his ear, and quiet stillness flickered all about them.

He exhaled slowly, and Gwaine's arm tightened around him.

It was a good thing, to be loved, he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep.


	17. Black Night

**I don't own Merlin. (AND GUESS WHO'S BACK.)**

**Black Night is by Deep Purple.**

**/**

Morning came quietly, and Gwaine woke just as the sun curled its first tentative rays over the horizon. The curtains billowed in a mild breeze coming from the open balcony door, and he smiled when he discovered that Merlin had curled into him the night before. They were doing an admirable impersonation of a lopsided yin-yang, curled closely to each other, foreheads touching. Gwaine let loose a content sigh before closing his eyes again, and pulling himself tighter around Merlin. The other man grumbled at being moved, but calmed back down quickly, nuzzling into him.

It was at this moment that Gwaine realized that he'd shut the balcony door before they'd turned in.

He stiffened, and his hand crept under the pillow for the bowie knife that was normally there.

It was gone.

_Great_.

He disentangled himself from Merlin lazily, as though nothing was wrong, and slid out of bed on soundless feet. Years of sneaking about in houses collecting information (and occasionally disposing of the occupants) had left him very light and quiet on his feet, and he moved like a shadow to the walk-in closet first. A quick check through said that there was no one there, and a search of the rest of the place revealed the same. Methodically, Gwaine went through every nook and cranny, checking under the bed, looking at the floorboards, testing the ceiling, checking for any more of Geraint's bizarre secret passages throughout the room.

He was just checking the kitchenette's cabinets when a cool blade pressed into his back, and Merlin said cheerfully, "You know, I love watching you move. You're like a cat."

Gwaine thunked his head on the counter. "You just nearly gave me a heart attack, love."

"Eh. You'll live." Merlin swooped down to kiss his cheek, twirling the knife in his fingers before setting it on the table. "How'd you sleep?"

"Really well, until I thought we had a break in and your life was in danger," he grumbled good-naturedly, standing up to pull his lover in closer to him. Merlin grinned, touching noses and making a little humming noise of appreciation as Gwaine wrapped his arms around his waist. They held each other for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's warmth and content to be there, cocooned in love and appreciation for a few short moments.

"I just went for a bit of a stroll," Merlin said softly, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his lips. Gwaine hummed, rocking back and forth ever so slightly.

"Down three stories?"

"Yep. And out into the garden."

"I trust the night was nice?"

"Yeah." Merlin rested his head on Gwaine's shoulder, lips curling up. "You should have come with."

"I would have, if you'd woke me up," Gwaine replied, but couldn't quite bring himself to be angry. Merlin grinned impishly at him before pulling him into a quick kiss.

"Love you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

/

Will was sitting on a bench out in the Japanese gardens when Merlin found him, brandishing sandwiches he'd managed to bribe off the cook. Smiling his thanks, Will took it gratefully and began eating. Merlin settled beside him, looking out over the garden. It was a pleasant morning, and there was still a faint coolness in the air, a soothing match the cherry blossom tree in the ring of gravel. The blossoms, pale pink and as dainty as ever, waved faintly in the breeze as they watched.

"Keiran's pretty shaken up," he said quietly. "Mordred's pretty upset, too, but he's doing a good job of hiding it."

"Can't say I blame him," Merlin said just as quietly. "Memories coming back like that have to be more painful than knife wounds. I mean… He knew who they were, their faces, but at least he didn't have the burden of the memories."

Will fiddled a bit with his sandwich for a moment before blurting out, "I think I'm going to talk to one of them. The psycho people."

Merlin nodded, bumping their shoulders together with a small smile. "I'm glad you're gutsy enough to do it. And if you ever want me in there with you, I'll come."

"Thanks, Merlin." Will went back to eating with more gusto, the line of tension in his shoulders relaxing. "You know… Geraint and I are really getting on well. I'm a little surprised. He's all classy and butler-y and whatever, and I'm– well, I'm me. Weird former hooker with bad taste in clothes and a past that psychologists will have a field day with."

Merlin smiled fondly, looking up at the swaying cherry blossoms. "You're Will. And as much as I would love to have some of that not in your past, I wouldn't have my best friend any other way."

Ducking his head, Will smiled softly.

The cherry blossoms fluttered in the breeze.

/\

It was five o'clock when Merlin began suiting up. Gwaine was already done, in a simple white shirt and deceptively tight pants that were actually plenty loose, ready for serious ass-kicking. Merlin dressed about the same, but added a thin layer of Kevlar under his shirt. He was just finishing the buttons when Gwaine stood up, wrapping his arms around Merlin's waist and nuzzling at the side of his neck.

"You want something?"

"Mmm. Just you. All the time," he murmured against the soft skin, nosing at the tender spot behind Merlin's ear. He squirmed in his arms, a little smile on his face.

"We're supposed to be going soon," he said, groaning a little when Gwaine started pressing soft kisses down his neck. "S-so don't start something we can't finish."

"I'm not starting anything, I'm simply enjoying my boyfriend's company," Gwaine murmured, laughing a little when Merlin tried to elbow him. "Alright, alright, I'll back off."

Merlin rolled his eyes, and was still smiling when there was a knock at the door. Gwaine walked over to get it as Merlin put on a series of tight to the wrist bracelets in heavy metal that would help block an attack. They were sturdy and dark. Tonight was all about power, and he needed to show off that power as much as possible. Freya and Nimueh were both incredibly strong, and had taught him how to use the bracelets to the best advantage.

Geraint came in through the door, his face somber and composed. "Mordred and Will are dressed and waiting for you downstairs," he said quietly. Gwaine clasped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and Geraint smiled faintly at the reassuring gesture.

"It's going to be alright," Merlin said, walking over as he tested where his sais were strapped to his leg. "We'll get the people who did this."

"Merlin," he said hesitantly, then squared his shoulders. "Bring Will back to me?"

He nodded, eyes somber as he said, "I'll bring him back, Chase."

Geraint ducked his head in gratitude, hiding his eyes as the two left the room, Gwaine's swagger just as pronounced as ever.

/

It was disgustingly easy to get in. They'd been waved through the couple guarding the door quick and easy after Will came up with his secretive package. The two bouncers, named Tristan and Isolde, had simply glanced inside before deciding that yes, it was an excellent idea for them to go in ahead of the monstrous lines that had so encompassed the outside of the building.

Inside, the music was heavy and thumping, getting the possible combatants blood boiling to a fever pitch. The place was loud and reeked of spilled drinks, and girls in precious little lounged against the wall or on couches were they were quickly approached by the college boys who slipped inside to join the festivities. Will easily worked through the crowd, the others following him and keeping wary eyes on the surrounding mass of bodies. A few raised dance floors on the second level could be seen jutting out, and the glitter of girl's dresses reflected the colorful lights around the rest of the rooms. Big, gaudy murals on the walls could be seen, and beautiful men and women were sprawled out on the couches reeking of sweat from the fights. The big main cages were further back, and a roaring, blood-hungry crowd was swarmed around the four.

"Looks like our kind of place," Gwaine said in Merlin's ear.

He smirked at the thought, and called back, "We'll have to come back and win the fights one day. Date night."

"I can live with that!"

Will led them to the bar, and called the bartender over with a simple finger twitch. The man, thin and darkly handsome, raised an eyebrow.

"Helios," Will said when he leaned in. "We need get upstairs, we're the party favors for him."

The bartender looked them over, eyebrows raised, then shrugged. "Okay then. He's on the 16th floor, elevator code is 1844, don't do anything stupid in the elevators."

"Got it," Will said with a wink, pushing off from the counter and leading them away from the bar and deep into the throngs of people. The others watched with some awe as he danced through them, and then Mordred decided it was time to join in. Catching up, he caught Will, and the two danced their way to the far side of the room. Gwaine and Merlin glanced at each other and shrugged, wading into the sea of people. It was hot in the midst of all the jumping, writhing bodies, and by the time they made it to the other side they were both breathing hard from the sweat and perfume.

"You look awful," Mordred informed them, and Merlin treated him to a stiff middle finger before they were slipping quietly through an unmarked side door.

Behind the wall it was plain and gray, simple concrete, with an elevator directly in front of them.

"Well, this is only mildly creepy," Gwaine said, staring at the simple steel doors.

Will simply pressed the button, and a keypad shot out. He typed in the numbers – 1844 – and the door dinged open. The four shuffled inside, and began slipping on gloves.

"Going up?" Mordred drawled, and hit the button for 16.

/

The elevator opened into an opulent apartment, and by the time it arrived all of them were gloved, and their weapons were out. Merlin carried his sais, Mordreds fists were wrapped, and Gwaine had his gun out. Will just smiled and sauntered into the apartment, calling, "Helios?"

The voice was odd, coy and sweet, and it took them all a moment to realize that it was Will's 'client' voice. From the back of the apartment a smooth voice called, "Who is it?"

"A gift," Will sang back, sounding entirely too sultry for Merlin's liking. The group split, Mordred slinking to the left and Gwaine to the right while Merlin slipped carefully behind a massive golden vase that was tall enough to hide him. "I was sent up special for you, sir."

There was a pause, then a pleased, "Is that so? Edwin, we have a guest."

Grumbling could be heard from the same room, and Merlin held his breath as Will slid out of his shirt and let it drop to the floor, just as the squeak of a floorboard was heard.

"_Well_," the man purred. It was obviously Edwin, and he was stepping forward, the floorboards squeaking quietly as walked down the hall. "Look at you. Haven't I seen you around before?"

"Maybe," Will drawled, coyly lowering his eyes. "What can I call you?"

"Sir is just fine." Edwin's tone was almost feral, and Will smiled, beckoning him forward with one crooked finger, biting his lip. He made an appealing picture- Merlin could understand how he'd survived only on prostitution.

"Well, sir, I just have one question," Will said, all innocence.

"And what might that be?"

He was stopped right before Will now, and Will smiled, draping his arms over his shoulders, linking them behind his head.

"Do you want me the same way you wanted Kieran?" he asked innocently, and with one swift movement jerked Edwin's head down and his knee up. The crack was incredibly loud, and Edwin fell in a loose heap to the side, his neck snapped. Will brushed his hands off, and stepped behind a matching vase across from Merlin.

"Edwin?" Helios' slightly alarmed voice came from the back room, and quick footsteps brought him out.

Merlin stepped out, Mordred easily wrapped an arm around Helios' throat from the second door, and Gwaine burst out with a gun pressed tight to Helios's head.

"Good evening, Helios," Will said politely, stepping out to pick up his shirt and pull it back on. "We're going to go take a little walk now, and while we're on that walk we're going to have a bit of a chat." He smoothed his shirt out and picked up the awful jacket again, smiling with sharp, dangerous intent. "Try and call for help, and my friend behind you will but you in excruciating pain. He learned some very interesting Chinese tricks in his years abroad, isn't that right?"

"It is," Mordred drawled, tightening his grip. "I don't know if you heard about the person who took down all the attackers when Camelot was hit, but that was me."

Helios noticeably paled, and Merlin smiled at him.

"Let's get this show on the road."

/

Wolfy's beady eyes stared at Helios intently from where he sat on his lap, still and unblinking. The lizard was perched neatly on Helios's legs, and from the other side of Kilgarrah's interrogation room, Christian was watching just as intently, growling low in the back of his throat. He was crouched down, watching the man with the same intent focus that Wolfy had, and Merlin absently scratched through his hair before leaving the room.

Outside, the others waited, and pushed off the wall where they'd been leaning when he walked in.

"Well?" Gwaine asked, raising an eyebrow.

Merlin smirked, twirling his car keys around his finger. "As it turns out, Helios _does_ have a deep fear of reptiles. Thanks for the tip, Will." Will lifted a hand in a mock salute. "Anyway, the fake Boss is named Jerome Van Veldt, and you'll never guess what he does-" Merlin frowned, looking at Will. His friend had gone shock white when he heard the name, and was shaking a little. "Or maybe you don't have to. Will?"

"He's a pediatrician," Will whispered, and Mordred recoiled to look at him.

"_What_?"

"He's a regular of mine, my Thursday regular, he- Was, I mean, he was a regular," Will said, running his hands through his hair. "My god, I've been screwing the Boss. I can't believe this, what the hell is wrong with my life? I didn't ask for shit like this to happen, I never wanted it to. I can't- I can't believe this."

"Hey, hey, calm down," Gwaine said soothingly, reaching over to rub his shoulder. "Look, I know that this wasn't what any of us were expecting, but now we have a name, and someone who has a face to put it to. We can get this guy. Do you have his number? An address?"

Will sucked in a breath as Mordred silently rubbed his back, clearly doing his best to be reassuring. "Yeah, yeah, all the contact info is in my black notebook, I always keep tabs in case of emergencies." He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. He was obviously anxious, eyes wide and scared. "I can't- god, Van Veldt is the Boss? The Fake Boss? What the hell is my life, guys? I never thought I'd ever have to see his ugly face again."

The others exchanged glances, clearly unsure what to do. It was Mordred who spoke finally, his eyes somber.

"We'll have to play him. Catch him with you. Didn't you tell me not too long ago that he was still calling you, even after you told him you'd blackmail him?"

"Yes," Will said slowly, biting his lip. "But- I don't know. I dunno if I could call him up and do this. I mean, the last time I talked to him was- was the day I meant Geraint. I blew off our normal meeting so I could be with him. Maybe the Fake is mad, and he's a hell of a lot scarier when he's mad than Helios is. Helios only ever hit me, Van Veldt… he knows surgery. He could take me apart with a knife smaller than my finger."

"That _is_ a bit of a problem, I'll give you that, but we'll be there backing you up," Gwaine promised, clapping a hand to Will's shoulder as Mordred nodded firmly.

"There's no way we'd let him get you," Mordred promised. "You got out of that hell, we're not going to put you back in it. I swear."

Will nodded, looking reassured as he took a deep breath. "Okay. Well, that makes me feel a hell of a lot better. I just don't ever want to go back to him, y'know?"

"We get it," Mordred said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "C'mon. We'll leave these two idiots to their work and go have some tea, right? Kilgarrah makes a mean Oolong, you'll love it." He began steering Will towards the stairs that led back upstairs. Merlin smiled when he heard Will say, "What's Oolong?" and Mordred gasped out loud, sounding positively wounded by the words.

Gwaine shook his head as he watched the two go, amused. "Only Mordred could distract someone from impending possible doom."

"Yeah, he's good like that," Merlin said, smiling when Gwaine took his hand to lift it to his lips. "What're you doing?"

"Lavishing much deserved attention on these beautiful hands of yours," Gwaine said, kissing each knuckle sweetly. Merlin's smile broadened. "Even in the midst of torture, they're so beautiful."

"You're a flirt, and I'm sorry to say that it works on me every time," Merlin said with a snort, making a soft noise of surprise when Gwaine turned his hand over to start kissing the tender skin on the inside of his wrist. "_Gwaine_, really?"

"I don't worship you enough," he murmured, pressing kisses up and down his arm. "I really don't."

"Is now really the time?" Merlin hissed, looking at the doorway. "We have a kidnapped man in the room next to us, and a mentally scarred former Dorocha who doesn't need any more scars on his brain."

Gwaine smirked, letting go of his hand to cup Merlin's face in his hands and start laying positively knee-weakening kisses to his lips, making each steadily filthier and backing him up against the wall. Merlin groaned, blushing a little at the thought of anyone seeing when Gwaine worked a knee between his legs.

"_Gwaine_-"

"I never thought I'd be the kind to get off on torture, but here you are, making the whole thing too damn sexy," Gwaine growled, kissing over his neck and hitting every place he knew would turn Merlin into a weak limbed, begging, writhing mass. "I never thought that watching you just sit there and ask people sharply worded questions while you played on their fears would be this hot."

Merlin let out a weak whimper when Gwaine bit down on his neck, and had just closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation when an amused voice said, "You two should _really_ get a room."

Merlin yelped, and Gwaine groaned, letting his head fall down on Merlin's shoulder.

"Go _away_, Mordred."

/

They let Helios go at the police station without any of his clothes and a meticulous list of everything Will had on him, as well as a list of where to find the evidence, as well as the promise that if he tried anything, they'd find a nice big Monitor lizard to put in his apartment. It was a very effective threat.

So they went home to Camelot, told their story, and went to bed.

At least, that was the plan.

The plan was interrupted, at least for Merlin and Gwaine, by a very disgruntled Geraint at roughly 1 in the morning, who burst in to tell them that Freya and Nimueh had called to tell them that they'd be arriving at about 1 in the afternoon the following day, and that they refused to stop calling until they were sure that Merlin had the message.

And _then_ they slept.


	18. Cough Syrup Somewhere Only We Know

**I don't own Merlin.**

**Cough Syrup is by Young the Giant, and Somewhere Only We Know is by Keane.**

**/**

It was cold in the predawn light, and Merlin sat alone on the wide porch of the estate, staring out over the ponds and grounds as he sipped at a cup of tea that was just shy of being able to burn his tongue. There was a faint mist rolling in over the green hills of the horses' pastures, and he could see, faintly, Kieran riding the huge Peligoso along the small stream. The steam of the tea was stolen away by the cool air, and as the sun began to peek over the horizon, Merlin heard the door open.

"It's a beautiful morning," Lance said quietly, sitting down in the chair beside him.

"It is," Merlin agreed, his voice just as soft. "What're you doing out and about?"

Lance shrugged, watching as Kieran rode back towards the stables. "I couldn't sleep any longer. I tried, but I just… couldn't. Marcella's son, Pierre, he came and woke me up to play games last night as well, and Marcella and I talked for a bit after he fell asleep. I'm tired, but… Not that tired. I don't know."

Merlin smiled a little, sipping his tea. "So you and Marcella are getting along?"

"Yes, quite well," Lance nodded, shifting his still bandaged feet a little. "She's sweet, and her children are adorable."

"Better be careful, or Will'll go after you for messing with his godchildren," Merlin told him, slightly amused at the thought of Will chasing the once calm and composed Lance around the house.

Lance smiled, and when the sun was fully over the horizon, spilling over onto their faces and lighting the beautiful green lawns and garden up with pure gold, he was asleep in his chair again and Merlin's teacup was once again cold and the dregs were floating in amber liquid at the bottom. Kieran was walking up the path, his face upturned and peaceful as the world began to warm up again, the sun blasting heat back into their bones and waking souls once more.

The two of them walked silently in, leaving Lance to sleep in the early morning sunshine and going down to help put breakfast together.

/

Gwaine found him in the shower after breakfast, the water running hard and hot, steaming up the bathroom. He stripped down and joined him after a moment's hesitation, and Merlin leaned into him with a tired sigh when he wrapped his arms around his waist. They stood there, silent in the water for a long time, Gwaine occasionally pressing soft kisses to Merlin's bare shoulders, where hot water droplets rolled down, leaving faint red trails.

"We're so close," Merlin whispered at last, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the shower pouring down over them both. "So close to being free again. Really free, just to live like we want."

Gwaine kissed his neck, on the fading bruise that he'd put there a few nights ago. "Soon, love. Soon."

Merlin turned in his arms, resting his head on his shoulders, and they swayed together in the steam and the water, letting the heat curl around them like a living thing as they stood there. It was a long time before Gwaine pulled back to kiss his forehead, eyes gentle.

"Hey," he said gently. "We both better wash up before we turn into lobsters." Merlin smiled at that, kissing him quick and slightly dirty. "_Hey_. No fair, we're supposed to be on conference call soon, we don't have time."

"We always have time," Merlin purred, and Gwaine couldn't help the smile on his face as Merlin looped his arms around his neck and pulled him in for another, hungrier kiss.

"Oh, alright."

/

Business had to be attended to, because that was how things went in the real world, and it was noon before Gwaine made his way back upstairs to the suite he and Merlin shared. Merlin himself had gone down to talk with Will about their plan of attack to take the Fake Boss, Mr. Jerome Van Veldt. He rolled his eyes at the name- it was long and pretentious, not unlike some of those he'd gone to Oxford with. Running a hand over his face, he forced himself to focus. While his interns were doing a marvelous job (and he was going to badger Arthur until they were paid a generous sum), he had been needed for some of the trickier things that day.

He walked in, looking around with a content sigh. If it weren't for the fact that it was Arthur's house, and it was also shared by nearly a hundred abused women and children, Gwaine would have loved to live in the comfortable suite for a long time.

But because it wasn't theirs, he was looking forward to going back home. Sighing, he slid his suit coat off his shoulders and draped it over one of the plush chairs. Loosening his tie, he groaned as the silk fluttered to the floor. He toed off his shoes, fell onto the bed with a happy sigh, and was about to curl under the blankets when a phone rang.

He froze for a moment before sitting bolt upright and looking around. There, on one of the ridiculous decorative tables that were placed around the room, sat a small flip phone, ringing almost politely.

Slowly, he stood up to go and pick it up, looking at it cautiously before flipping it open.

"Hello?"

"_Hello, Gwaine."_

His breath caught in his throat at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. "Who is this?"

"_The man who hired you,"_ the voice said calmly, almost politely. It was older, male, and a sweet baritone that resonated nicely in his ear. "_You know me as the Boss. Well, you don't actually know me, but you've met a few of my associates. You even kidnapped one of my favorites last night, and I can't say I was pleased by that, Mr. Noble."_

"How the hell did you get this phone into my room?" Gwaine demanded, feeling dizzy and horrified.

"_It doesn't matter. What does matter is that I have a final job for you, and a great amount of money for you when you complete it. 5 million, to be exact," _the Boss said, his voice a low purr in Gwaine's ear. His stomach dropped, fear twisting it into cruelly tight knots.

"And what makes you think I'll take it?" He asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"_One brother who needs rehab, another trying to get a restaurant off the ground, a mother who you never had a proper headstone for, and a great many other reasons," _The Boss said, and Gwaine bit his lip. He didn't want to consider it, but the facts were there. He was making excellent money with Arthur, but still not enough to do everything he wanted for his brothers. His silence must have been said more than words, because The Boss's smug voice came down the line. _"I know that you need the money, and it isn't that much of a problem. It's a simple job, Mr. Noble."_

"…What is it?" he asked hesitantly, a hand running nervously through his hair. "What do you want?"

"_It's simple, like I said. Kill Kieran Gonzales, and leave Camelot. It's not like Merlin loves you anyway, it should be easy to leave. I'll give you further instructions once you're out," _The Boss said, and the call ended sharp and abrupt.

The phone slipped from shaking fingers, and Gwaine sat, staring blankly at the wall across from him.

Kill Kieran.

Leave Camelot.

Five million to walk away from his new life.

Five million to end another's life.

Five million to maybe save his brother's life.

_It's not like Merlin loves you anyway_.

That was lie, he told himself firmly, shaking his head. Merlin wouldn't have kept him around for this long if he didn't love him. He would've killed him, or dumped him, or _something_. Probably killed him, actually. He knew too much, after all.

And, in the spirit of the devil, Merlin walked in, looking exhausted and rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I swear, Arthur is the _worst_ prat in the world. I told him two days ago that I wasn't going to be up to catering to his every whim, and that he's got Geraint for that today, and what does he do?" he complained, tugging his red tie off. "I'll tell you what he does. He goes and tells me to make him coffee. Coffee! I spent all last night torturing some sick bastard so that I can hunt down the Boss and keep his sorry ass safe, and that's what he demands. Coffee, I ask you." He vanished into the bathroom, seemingly unaware of the stricken expression on Gwaine's face. "Did your conference go well?" he called back out, and Gwaine swallowed hard.

"Yeah," he said with a cough. "Yeah, it went really well. The interns are really catching on. I'm going to make Arthur pay them, because there's no way that they don't deserve some pay."

Pay.

Money.

Five million.

The phone was still out on the bed. Shit! Gwaine grabbed it quickly and shoved it in his pocket, heart pounding for no good reason, and took a moment to compose himself.

He cleared his throat again. "So, did you get Arthur to ask Geraint instead?"

"No. I just went and got it, because I still like his sorry ass." Merlin emerged from the bathroom, smiling. "I'm such a sucker for him."

Gwaine smiled a little, hoping it wasn't too strained. "Sometimes, yeah."

Merlin sighed, walking over and climbing into his lap, straddling him. Gwaine's arms automatically went around him, and Merlin smiled contentedly, leaning in to rest on his shoulder. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured. "It's gotten to the point that I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Yeah?" Gwaine's throat was tight as he rubbed up and down Merlin's back, worrying his lip as the thin man relaxed into him.

"Yeah. You're so damn warm, you know that? Warm and just… nice. I like having you like this."

Gwaine laid back, and smiled a little tiredly up at Merlin when he sat up, hands on Gwaine's chest. "I like having you too."

Merlin smiled, almost coy, and Gwaine found his hands sliding up and down the smooth material coating Merlin's thighs.

"Gwaine?" he asked, his voice so damned _soft_ and _inviting_ that Gwaine nearly groaned.

"Yeah, Mer?"

"You think we have time for some fun before Freya and Nimueh get here?" Merlin's hands were already playing with the buttons on his shirt.

Gwaine glanced over at the clock that sat on the bedside table. "Probably not. They said they'd be here about 1, didn't they?" Merlin sighed, rolling off of him and curling up at his side. Turning his head, Gwaine's smile softened when he saw the way his boyfriend was burrowing into the covers, as though trying to get them to rise up and cover him entirely. "You want to nap for a bit?"

"I _want_ to, yes. But I don't get to." Merlin was so sulky Gwaine couldn't help but laugh and lean over to kiss the top of his head, heart swelling when Merlin looked up at him with the smile he reserved just for him. "We're gonna talk to Freya and Nimueh, we're going to sleep for a bit, and then we're going to go and find that bastard Van Veldt, and make him talk."

"You always take me the nicest places," Gwaine teased, kissing him quickly before standing up to go and change into comfortable clothes again. There was no reason for him to stay in a suit, after all; the interns were taking care of the rest of the problems today.

He changed quickly, using sleight of hand to hide the phone in the one of the jackets still hanging up, and then turned to face Merlin, who hadn't moved from the bed. "C'mon, sweetheart, up you get. We'd better go downstairs and check up on their progress."

Merlin groaned and followed.

/

"I have to say, this wasn't what I was expecting you to want to talk about," Merlin said, stunned. He sat heavily back in the chair, staring across the room. Sunlight was spilling into the sitting room, where Nimueh, Freya, Gwaine, and Merlin himself had settled in to talk.

"Believe me," Freya said somberly, "If we could've figured out a way to tell you earlier, we would have, I swear." She ran a hand through her hair, the beautiful black strands falling over her shoulders in loose waves. Merlin felt a pang in his chest, unexpected sorrow rushing in for the loss of the woman he had once loved. Granted, he had been more in love with the idea of Freya than who she really was, but still.

"A child," Gwaine said finally. "And you want Merlin…"

"To father one for us, yes," Nimueh said, nodding. "We talked for quite some time about it, and it seems only right. It's up to him in the end, of course, but he's the person we'd like to have. The child would also count as the Dragonlord. We know that neither of you are really gunning for children, and Freya's told me how important it is to keep the Dragonlord line intact."

Gwaine looked at him, raising an eyebrow in question, and Merlin nodded.

"Yes," he told the two across from him. "I'd be happy to father your child."

Freya beamed at him, and jumped up to hug him tight as Nimueh fell back in her chair, clearly relieved. Merlin laughed as she squeezed him, excitedly saying, "Thank you thank you thank you!" Gwaine smiled at the two, clearly pleased. Drinks were brought out, toasts were made, and it was only hours later when they'd all gone to their respective rooms again that Gwaine found himself holding a crying Merlin.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Gwaine asked, worried, as Merlin buried his face in his shoulder.

"I just never thought that I'd get to see a child of mine grow up," Merlin said into his chest, and Gwaine winced.

"Merlin…it won't _be_ your child. Not really. It'll be Freya and Nimueh's. Sure, he'll be a Dragonlord, but not in the same way that you are."

Merlin nodded, rubbing at his eyes as he straightened back up. "I know," he said quietly. "It's just… it's such a strange thought, and there's so much going on, and maybe I had a little too much to drink and got all emotional and I just…"

Gwaine pulled him back in for a hug, kissing his forehead. "Stop that. You need to get dressed, you're going out with Will pretty soon. Everything's going to be fine, I promise."

/

"Gwaine is a fucking liar!" Merlin yelled as he and Will chased Jerome Van Veldt down the street at six o'clock that night. The man was surprisingly fast for being so heavy, and as they swung around the corner Will called back, "What do you mean?"

"He said everything would be fine," Merlin yelled. "The liar!"

With one last burst of speed, the two of them tackled Van Veldt to the ground, and a quick stab of a needle to his neck knocked him out in a few seconds. Will stood back up, panting and resting his hands on his legs.

"Well, that was fun."

/

Gwaine found him in the sitting room asleep on one of the couches, his breathing soft and steady. There was no one around, the house quiet for once while everyone was at dinner on the other side. Mordred must have been there as well, leaving Kieran peacefully dreaming in the safety of the sitting room. Gwaine looked around the room, heart squeezing as he remembered how not that much earlier this was a happy place. He ran his fingers over the edge of the knife that had so eluded him yesterday morning, looking down at Kieran.

Five million dollars to quietly cut his throat and walk out the door. Five million that he could just take and leave, and what if Merlin didn't love him after all? What if he was being used?

Again, at that. How many times had he played the victim, let himself be supposedly taken advantage of thinking that he had the upper hand when he never really did? And what the hell was he even doing, thinking about this? He'd killed so many times now it should just be rote, there shouldn't be any hesitation and yet…

He sat down, staring silently at Kieran, and kept turning the knife over in his hands.

So what if Merlin was playing him? It didn't matter. He loved the man, he truly did, but if he was forced to leave it wouldn't be too long before he'd be scooped up again.

And that was when his lip began to tremble, and he put his hand over his eyes, a vain attempt to keep the tears back.

He was lying to himself and he knew it. Somewhere, somehow, in the midst of everything, he'd somehow well and truly fallen for one very strange, slightly annoying, deadly as a viper secretary-cum-personal assistant, and he was utterly besotted and hadn't a clue what to do with himself. The man was sweet and kind when he wasn't killing people left, right, and center, and there was no way that Gwaine would be happy to be picked up by just anybody after that. There was no way he could take it. Damn the Boss and the stupid seeds of doubt he'd sown in his brain, how dare he?!

"Gwaine?"

Kieran's voice was groggy, making him looking up as he wiped away the stressed out tears, having worked himself into quite a mess. "Yeah, Kier?"

"What're you doing with the knife?" Kieran asked, expression sleepy as he looked at him, a little confused.

"Just wanted to make sure you were safe," Gwaine told him, standing up to go over and gently stroke over his hair. Kieran blinked up at him, still groggy with sleep and confused, but simply nodded and closed his eyes again, burrowing into the sofa.

"Okay."

Gwaine refused to let his lips tremble, and quietly walked out of the room, leaving the knife on the table by the door.

/

Merlin returned home at the crack of dawn, his face freshly washed clean of the blood and his hands soft from lotion, a way to keep the hard water of Kilgarrah's home at bay. Gwaine was up, a cup of coffee steaming in front of him where he sat, still and silent, looking out of the windows out over the lawns.

"I found out," Merlin said unnecessarily, sitting on the bed and slowly pulling his boots off. "It's not far from here, actually, just down the road. It's an old manor, been in someone's family for generations. Apparently the Bosses have just been passing it down for years and years- Gwaine? Are you listening?"

Gwaine was still staring out of the window when he reached into his pocket to silently take out a small flip phone. He tossed it onto the bed, not bothering to watch where it landed, and said quietly, "I found that in here yesterday. The Boss called me. Made me an offer."

Merlin stared, shocked. "You- he called? Why didn't you tell me?"

Gwaine finally turned to look at him then, eyes tired. "Because I was deciding what to do. He offered me five million to kill Kieran and simply walk away from it all. Five million to betray you, and Arthur, and this place that I've grown to love. That's what he offered me, and I thought about it."

There was no air in his lungs, was all Merlin could think. Someone had got him in the gut, punched the air out of him; that was the only reason he could feel this awful. That was the only explanation.

"I didn't do it," Gwaine said, still looking at him. "But I thought about it. I've done worse for less, and I have two brothers who want to get their lives on track, and I just– I don't know what to do anymore. I'm giving up so much for you, I'm letting go of my past, and– I am so _stupidly_ in love with you, and I just need to know that you feel the same, because if not I have to leave, because I can't keep this up if you aren't, I can't- I just-" And the Merlin was on his feet, crossing over the room in two strides to pull him into the most desperate kiss he'd ever planted on a person, because he couldn't hear this anymore, he just couldn't, and Gwaine held onto him like he was the most precious thing in the world, and neither of them were stupid enough to pretend that they weren't crying when they parted. The tear trails were plain, and Merlin pressed their foreheads together.

"Don't ever think that I don't love you," he breathed, and kissed him again.

"Promise?" Gwaine whispered in between quickly grabbed kisses, clinging to him.

"Promise," Merlin whispered back, and it was those kisses he clung to later that day when he dressed again, strapped the sword to his hip, and slowly walked down the stairs.

/

Arthur waited by the door, and together they walked down the long drive in silence. It was only at the end, where the tall gates stood and little turrets scurried around that Arthur pulled him into a bone-crunching hug. Merlin hugged back just as fiercely, tears burning his eyes when Arthur whispered, "You'd better come home. What would I do without my servant?"

"Prat," he whispered back, clearing his throat when they parted. "Take care of Gwaine for me."

"You can take care of him yourself," Arthur said, rubbing quickly at his eyes and clearing his throat. "You sure you don't want a car?"

"I'm sure," he said, and stepped through the gate, one foot closer to the end.


	19. Lakme (Flower Duet)

**This is how it ends, everyone. Thanks for finishing. It's been a long time coming, but we're finally at the finish line.**

**As ever, I don't own Merlin.**

**The Flower Duet (Lakmé) is by Léo Delibes. **

**/**

This is how it ends.

There is no final battle, no lines drawn in the sand. No bodies lying dead on the floor when he walks inside the dark, forbidding doors of what looks like a castle, stuck in the middle of a park. The floors are black and white tiled marble, the décor is bland, and the house is very, very quiet.

He comes alone, just him and his blade. His armor was left at the gate, where no sentries watched, the guardhouse abandoned a good few months ago. There's a cup of tea sitting in there, gathering dust and long since dried out. Cobwebs were made in the doorways, and mice scuttle away at his feet.

And he descends the stairs, up into the darkness.

He'll be at the top. Men of power always are. Uther preferred the top office; the man who stole and used Mordred did the same. Countless men and women in countless cities in countless countries, lording over hundreds of people and feeling like they're the ones who own the world, because there they are, sitting at the top of their pathetic little worlds and watching the drudges writhe beneath them.

The stairs are broad, the steps wide and made of a dark red wood. He doesn't want to think about what might have stained them that way, doesn't want to imagine it, but he knows. This is not a good place; this is not a safe place. This is a place of tragedy, a palace of darkness and murder, and blood has coated these steps enough to turn them dark and disturbing.

This is how it ends, the knight ascending the stairs, up to face fear and death in the dark and silence.

This is the ultimate test, you see. It's easy to be brave in a fight, easy to throw yourself in front of another with a blade upright or a gun outstretched. It's easy to fight an enemy when they're standing in front of you. It's hard to face an enemy who lives in your head, one you can't exorcise. That is why the hero is the one who walks in the darkness and feels no fear. It's because he knows that he's the most dangerous thing in the darkness.

This.

This is how it ends.

It ends at the top of the stairs, with two oak doors set with carvings of people writhing in agony, and huge iron handles.

It ends as he pulls the one on the left to the side, and a soft voice, kind and low, says, "I've been expecting you."

/

"You tried to turn him against me," Merlin said quietly as he stepped inside the room. His skin was crawling, and there was only the faintest of light, just trickling into the room from the doorway. The rest was shadows. "You thought you could take him back, use him like you did before."

"Oh yes, I did," the voice said again. Male, quiet and calm, almost decidedly smug. The voice of a man who knew that he was in charge. "Did it work?"

"He didn't kill Kieran, if that's what you're asking," Merlin said quietly. "Or Will. How long did you know about them?"

There was a low chuckle, threatening in the dark. "Silly boy. I knew about them from the day they hit the streets. I know everything. I make it my business to do so, you see."

Merlin took another step forward, feet making a soft _tack_ sound on the marble floor. "Why?"

"Why not?"

The problem with the voice was that it was so damnably _reasonable_. Merlin well and truly hated it at that moment, hated it for everything it had done and not done in the world.

"Why did you even send Gwaine there in the first place? Sure, he'd killed people, and sure, he'd stolen information, but what did you even want?" He demanded of the darkness. The laughter that came back at him was low and as dark as their surroundings, and so coldly cruel that it made his skin shiver in ways it hadn't since before his first kill.

"Because of _you_," the voice said when it finally calmed down. "You were always my target, always the reason. Uther, Arthur, your precious Nimueh and Freya… They're nothing to me. They don't even rate being pawns on the chess field. I was so _bored_, you see. So very, very bored. I had the Dorocha, I had my men, I had the city under my imaginary thumb…and there was nothing _more_ to it all, no secret societies I hadn't sunken my claws into to enjoy. And then…" the voice trailed off into a deeply disturbing giggle. "And then there was you. You messed up, a few months before Gwaine showed up. That mugger? The one who thought that you'd be just _perfect_, such a dainty little well-paid treat to take on. You remember him, of course."

The mugger.

Of course he remembered. The man had smelled of stale breath and old beer, and had had the eyes of a crazy thing. He'd shoved him up against a building, put a knife to his throat and shoved his knee between his legs, and had been panting like he'd just run a marathon. The breath had been hot on his cheek, and the man's nails, when they'd run over his shirt, had been like murderously long claws.

He'd snapped his neck and carved a stylized D on his cheek as a calling card and a warning.

"I remember," he said quietly. "It's hard not to."

"You _intrigued _me so," the voice said, echoing a bit about the room. It seemed large, and almost as though the echoes were bouncing off glass. "The Dragonlord, fled from his Dragon after a fight where he no longer acknowledged the boy he'd saved from a life as a whore and barely spoke to the only woman he'd ever loved, was here in the city, my city, as an average secretary. And, as you know, the base of secretary is 'secret'. Little secret _Merlin_, hiding from his destiny and serving it at the same time. I was so fascinated with you, especially after you started going out in the dark in that lovely motorcycle helmet of yours and beating on people in the dark. Merlin the vigilante, for a few months. It was positively adorable."

He was shaking, by then, shaking and a bit scared. "_How did you know_?!"

"It wasn't exactly hard to figure out, Merlin, really. You always left your precious calling card. That lovely 'D'- it got so ornate with the more violent killings. Did you start to enjoy it, having that kind of power over them, darling Dragonlord?" The voice had become mocking now. "Did you like it?"

"NO!"

The laugh came back, that horrible dark laughter that sheered straight to his bones and ripped him apart.

"Ah, methinks the lordling doth protest too much, Merlin!"

That was when the sword came out, the blade glittering and gleaming in the half-light of the doorway. His voice was both enraged and broken when he demanded, "Why are you doing this?! Why did you have to do this, why did you bring me here, what, just to taunt me?"

"No, no," the voice said, going gentle and warm. "I want you to _join_ me."

Merlin snorted, adjusting his grip on the sword. "That'll never happen."

"Oh?" The voice went silky. "Never?"

"Never."

And that, of course, was when the lights came up.

"Hello, Merlin," Balinor said, smiling at him. "Now do you understand?"

The sword dropped to the floor, the Damascus steel ringing as it struck the polished marble.

"Dad?" he whispered, eyes wide as he stared. "I- I saw you _die_."

"Thought you did, I'm sure." Balinor stepped forward, perfectly shined leather shoes gleaming in the lights. The room was huge, probably once a ballroom, with beautiful marble floors that stretched back to the a slightly raised dais. "Thought you felt my heart stop, felt my limbs give out…"

"We put you in the river," Merlin whispered, stepping back. "I felt you die, I watched you sink to the bottom, you are _dead_."

"No," he said simply. "I am not." His smile was gentle, maybe even fond. "Not dead. Simply close to it. That'd been the plan all along, after all. Fake my death so that the old Boss could bring me back and I could take over. He lives in Brazil now, enjoying his retirement- as well he should. He worked very hard to make this city what it is."

Merlin was numb, staring blankly at the man before him. Balinor didn't stop in his approach, finally reaching down to pick up Brenin yr Dreigiau with ease.

"I've missed holding him," Balinor mused, turning the blade side to side. "Such beautiful craftsmanship…such art for such a brutal thing. It hasn't been properly bloodied since I left, I would wager. But that can be fixed." He looked back at Merlin as he ran his fingers up and down the flat of the blade, a small smile on his lips. "My son… too long, we've been away from each other. And too long since we've stood at each other's side. Come with me. Together we'll be so much better. Just think- Arthur couldn't dream of the power that two Dragonlords could hold together."

"Is this why?" he whispered. "Is this why you told Gwaine to go after Kieran? To- To try and get me to switch sides? To loosen my trust in him?"

"Basically," Balinor nodded, twisting the sword in his hand. "Of course, he didn't cooperate. He's awful like that. Never could get him to go through with my plans correctly." He shook his head and stepped away, swinging the sword in lazy circles. It whined as it sliced the air, low and deadly. "I was very frustrated, you know. He was a good spy, fed me a great deal of information through my fake. But he was never a true killer. I found out after he went to ground that most of the people he claimed to have killed had had their deaths faked. The sex, though. That he didn't lie about. He slept his way through University just to stay alive." He turned to smile at Merlin. "Your boyfriend was just another Will. A whore."

"Don't call him that," Merlin said quietly. "He got out."

"I told him to sleep with you," Balinor said sadly, shaking his head. "He never got out after all."

Merlin's lip trembled a little. The tiny motion was spotted immediately, and Balinor was at his side in seconds, pulling his stiff body into a hug.

"I'm sorry, but I needed you like this," Balinor said in his ear. "I needed you to domesticate, to settle down before I brought you in. You were so hot-headed, son."

_I'm not your son, _Merlin thought, and when Balinor pulled away, he simply reached to his back, and pulled out his gun. It was sturdy in his grip, pregnant with bullets and violence, the black metal gleaming as he stared down the barrel.

"Father. Balinor. Boss," he said softly as the man froze, staring in shock at the tiny gun. "I do not feel sorry for your death."

He pulled the trigger.

He emptied the clip.

/

He left the body, and took the sword.

The walk out was long, mostly because he detoured to find the bodies of the Dogs and the Dorocha. They had been left in a pile in what had once been a lovely gazebo. Now, the place was a stinking, fetid hive of flies and decay, bodies slumped one over the other. He looked over them with a twinge of sorrow for the people they had once been. An arm stuck out from the bottom, marked with one of the Dorocha's numbers, and he stared at it for quite some time, wondering how his life had grown so complicated.

/

He called from the guardhouse's phone. Told the police that the Boss was dead, and that his name was unimportant. The Boss had killed too many people, all of which had been left to rot. He stated that he felt he'd done a public service, dropped the phone to the ground, and started the long walk back to Camelot with his sword at his side.

The grain fields he walked through rustled and swayed with the wind of an early storm. Clouds had gathered on the horizon, and in the distance the city gleamed, tall and golden in the midst of the blackening sky. His fingers, now ungloved, brushed over the tops of the wheat as he walked, taking in their sharp spines as he passed through their midst. It was a beautiful sight, the fields stretching before him and rippling with golden grain, fat, almost ready to harvest. They waved, each little stem rustling curiously as he passed, eyes fixed on the sky.

When he was finally out of the fields, back on the road, he found Gwaine waiting for him.

"You look so beautiful," he whispered when he saw him. The man was in a crisp white suit, blue shirt, neat brown shoes, hair out of his face for once. He'd leaned against the Desoto, and beyond him the rain was just beginning to hit the city.

"Kind of you to say, Merlin."

"It's the truth," he said blankly, walking up to wrap his arms around him. "And there's been far too little of that lately."

Gwaine's arms held him tight, and there was a soft kiss to his temple. Finally, the tears he'd been holding back began to fall, and he sobbed quietly into the beautiful white suit.

"For the record," Gwaine said softly as the rain swept over them, thunder crackling above, "I think you're beautiful too."


	20. Epilogue: Take Your Time (Coming Home)

**I don't own Merlin.**

**Here's the happy epilog, though I like the ending of that last chapter best.**

**Take Your Time (Coming Home) is by fun. and the second song by them used for a title but I thought this was best.**

**/**

_Paris, 6 months later_

"Geraint, if you don't get your ass moving we're going to be late! Again!"

Geraint straightened from where he was finishing the last few brush strokes of his painting and stretched wide. The airy Parisian apartment was full of light in the afternoon, and beyond the window, the view of the Eifel tower was unparalleled. The painting wasn't his best, but it was one that he thought would look nice on their crisp white walls, full of deep blues and rich browns.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he called, straightening and wiping his hands on a rag before walking into the main room. Will stood impatiently by the door, tapping his foot. He had the ugly jacket on again, the hideous fake fur and leather a terrible clash with the smooth suit underneath. As a going away gift, Arthur had had him fitted for three gorgeous Armani suits. He was stunning.

"What is this?" Will demanded, waving a hand at him. "C'mon, Ger, we have to be going! Plane leaves in two hours, they won't let you through customs like that."

He simply smiled, cupping Will's face with his hands and turning it up to kiss him, using every dirty trick he could think of to get Will weak-kneed and clinging to him. It worked like a charm, and when they pulled back Will looked a little dazed.

"We've got all the time in the world," he murmured. "Call Arthur, say that something's come up and we can't leave for another few hours."

Will was clearly torn, worrying at his lip as he looked up at Geraint. The taller man smiled broadly, leaning down to murmur against his lips, "Please, Will? Just two more hours here. Please."

Will groaned, wrapping his fingers in the paint covered shirt. "You will be the _death_ of me, Geraint Chase. The absolute death, I tell you. I try to be a responsible businessman and this is what happens, I'm canoodling with my boyfriend in Paris."

"I know," Geraint grinned, sweeping him up. "Isn't it perfect?"

/

_The City, Two Days Later_

The park was almost deserted before the picnic descended on it.

A few miles of blankets, a banquet of food, laughing people, and one small baby descended into it, and it was with a great deal of excitement that Merlin found himself hand in hand with Gwaine, leading him over to the festivities.

There was a cheer as they made it to the blankets, Morgana and Morgause loudest of all, while Freya and Nimueh stood to go and hug them. Merlin held Freya particularly tight, and when they finally let go it was just for a round of more hugs with Will and Geraint, followed by Kieran, Mordred, Gwen, and finally Arthur, who hugged like he hadn't seen him in the office just a few hours before. The baby was napping in his carrier, and Gwaine was cooing over him when Merlin finally sat down beside him.

"What's his name?" He asked Freya. "Have you decided yet?"

Freya smiled at her son, whose tiny feet kicked in his sleep. "Yes, we have. His name is Sheehan. It means peaceful, in the hopes that our lives will be with him in it."

"That's very sweet," Merlin said, smiling down at the tiny boy.

"He has your hair," Gwaine said, nodding at the wild tufts of black hair peeking out from under a little dark blue hat.

"Or Merlin's," Nimueh said with a smile. "He contributed some good genetics."

That got a laugh out of everybody, and the dinner began in earnest. Arthur and Gwen announced their official engagement, not that anyone was surprised, Geraint proudly announced he'd gotten into an art school in Paris, Kilgarrah had decided to open a bigger shop to keep up with demand with Christian officially listed as his partner, Marcella and Lance were getting engaged in spite of his two years that he was expected to remain in jail, Morgana was putting out a new jazz CD of all things, and life, generally, was good. Everyone laughed and joked around, cooed over the new baby and his tiny hands and feet. The food was good, the party was happy, and when people finally started drifting away, it was with full stomachs and big smiles.

The afternoon was just starting to cool down when Christian quietly went and tugged on Merlin's sleeve, indicating that he wanted to walk with him towards the small pond. Gwaine raised an eyebrow, but shrugged and waved Merlin off so he could go back to his chat with a very enthusiastic Kieran, who'd just gotten his first large job.

It was a nice evening, and the setting sun glittered on the water as they started a slow, easy pace around the pond. Christian was silent for a while, and Merlin was content to let him be. They were about halfway around when Christian stopped and turned to look at him with serious eyes.

"The Boss is dead," he said slowly, fingering the tattoo on his forearm. "I am f-free. I can… I can choose. To be who I want."

"Yes, you can," Merlin said quietly, watching curiously.

"I have made a choice." Christian was deadly serious, eyes wide and somber. "I have chose to be th-the next."

"The next what?"

Christian took a deep, steadying breath and lifted his head, squaring his shoulders. He suddenly looked nothing like the man he'd been when Merlin first captured him, strong and sure of his purpose. "I was a thief, a petty crook. But now, I am free, and so I chose to follow in the footsteps of the one who saved me." He looked directly into Merlin's eyes. "I will be the next Dragon."

Merlin's eyes widened. "You're sure?"

"I am sure." Christian nodded firmly. "I…I feel it is right."

"Well. Wow. Okay." Merlin ran a hand through his hair. "That's…that's quite some news, there."

"I know," Christian said, softening again. "But… Kilgarrah, he s-said that the Dragonlords gi-give names. To the Dragons."

Merlin eyed him for a moment, thoughtful. "D'you want me to name you?"

"I do."

Merlin stared at him for a long moment, taking in the way the light hit him, how strong he seemed at that moment, even now as he stared up at him, eyes wide and so innocent.

"Aithusa," he said at last. "I think that your name is Aithusa."

/

"You gonna tell me what went down with you and Chris tonight?" Gwaine murmured as he kissed up and down Merlin's neck.

"You're stripping me down so we can have lazy married people sex and you want to know what happened with Christian," Merlin grumbled, pinching him to hear him yelp. "Unbelievable."

"I am stripping you down so we can have _incredible_ married people sex, and this is what you do to me," Gwaine teased, sinking to his knees to lavish attention over the bared stomach, where he was thrilled to see just a bit of the muscle was sliding away to comfortable softness. "Look at us. We're domestic. We have an apartment, we have great jobs, we're married, and things are good."

Merlin squeaked when Gwaine hooked his arms behind his knees and neatly tossed him onto the bed, only to laugh when he climbed on as well. "I'm still stuck slaving for a prat, so I don't know about great jobs."

"But we're free from the past," he said firmly, straddling Merlin's thighs. His face grew more serious, and his eyes were tender as he said, "I love you."

Merlin smiled up at him, heart swelling at the way the lights from the city spilled across the face of his husband. "Yeah… I love you too."

/

Not all endings are perfect.

But all was well.

/

**I love you all, and I thank you so much for reading this to the end. I'm sorry it took so long, but on the other hand, I'm finally happy with the ending. This is my "coming home", I suppose, and three years later, here we are.**

**Home.**

**Thank you, and good-bye for now.**

**oOo**

**This work is, and always will be, dedicated to the beautiful, amazing, most perfect beta, nay, **_**alpha**_** that I know, EachPeachPearPlum. **

**Thank you, dove, and I am forever grateful for all you have done and continue to do for me. You are, and always will be, loved.**


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